Other Side of the Mirror
by FanfictionWriter83729
Summary: G1, Dystopian AU. As an act of defiance, the North American human resistance took on names of the Autobots, the ‘mythical’ enemies of the Decepticons. They were less than impressed when their namesakes finally arrived, more than one hundred years later.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **do not own Transformers; do not own Golden Compass, from which some concepts came.

**Summary: **G1 chars, Dystopian AU. As an act of defiance, the North American human resistance took on names of the Autobots, the 'mythical' enemies of the Decepticons. They were less than impressed when their namesakes finally arrived, more than one hundred years later. Tensions and suspicions are high as both Primes consider an alliance.

**Acknowledgements: **original bunny adopted from silvane91 at tfbunnyfarm.

**Author note: **There is a good reason why it took the bulk of the Autobot forces more than one hundred years to reach earth. It'll come out, but if you're curious, then feel free to PM me.

* * *

Other Side of the Mirror

**1**

In an underground human resistance camp, two children waited uneasily in a stretch of underground tunnel, close to the tents and the rooms of their heroes. They finally saw one, coming out of the hastily put up medical tent and striding down the long stretch of concrete and metal. They waved to her, calling, caught up with and finally surrounded her.

"Ratchet!" called Lisa.

"Ratchet!" echoed Shirley.

"Tell us a story, Ratchet!" Lisa said, tugging on a plate of the woman's armour.

"Yes, do!" insisted Shirley.

"Please! Please!" they begged, surrounding her. The woman called "Ratchet" looked down at them, futilely trying to look severe—she had just learned that not only had "Prime" defied her medical orders and had gotten out of bed, but had actually gone to see _them. _Heads were going to roll, and she was looking for one belonging to "Jazz" in particular. She didn't have enough time to weave tales for children.

But then a small voice in her head said, "Indulge them. They are not going to remain children forever. Let them have the now."

She sighed. "Very well," she said to the children, going down on her knees. The children sat in a circle, cross-legged, leaning forward eagerly. "What story shall I tell you?"

"Tell us about the Autobots," Lisa said.

The woman called "Ratchet" felt her heart skip a beat. "Well what about them?" she said, voice still light and level.

"Anything. Tell us anything!"

"Well, there were many legendary warriors," the woman began. "One was Perceptor, a great scientist, fascinated by anything and everything." The children listened, wide-eyed, as the image of their own Perceptor came into their thoughts. "Another scientist was Wheeljack. But, ingenious though he was, he had an uncanny ability to make almost all his projects explode."

"At least _our _Wheeljack explodes things on _purpose,_" Shirley said. Lisa hushed her.

"Then there were the Autobot twins, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, often the bane of Autobots and Decepticons alike, because of their love of pranks. They were vain beings, but magnificent warriors."

"I'm not scared of 'em!" Lisa said stoutly. She was, of course, referring to their twins.

"Yes you are!" Shirley challenged.

"No I en't!"

"Then why'd you run from 'em yesterday?"

"I was running 'cuz I stole their mirror, that's why!" Her companion gasped in horror. They knew that, though Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were kind in their own peculiar way, the one thing that they must never, ever touch was the twins' mirror. The little thief looked smug.

"I'm telling!"

"You wouldn't!"

The woman laughed, and the children blushed, returning their gazes to her. "And then," the woman continued, "there was Jazz, the saboteur. A very cool, stylish 'bot."

"I bet he liked dance moves!" Shirley said. "Our Jazz does!"

The woman smiled, but her thoughts were bittersweet. "Then there was Ironhide, a weapons expert. 'Shoot first, ask later,' that was his favourite line."

"_Our _Ironhide is like 'Ask what needs to be asked, then shoot to your little heart's content.'" Lisa said. "She's so cool. I want to be just like her when I grow up and get implants!"

"And then there was Ratchet," the woman continued, ruffling the child's hair. "A very efficient mech, but made even great Autobot leaders wonder which was worse: the injury or the cure." The children snickered, elbowing each other in what they thought was a discreet manner. Many of the resistance children had already suffered under the wrath of their Ratchet.

"Then there was Prowl. A great tactician and strategist. He did have the unfortunate fate of having very, very sensitive logic processors, though."

"So maybe _that's _why our Prowl looks at us funny sometimes!" Shirley said. "Her logic processors are freezing!"

"But she does funny stuff anyway, especially when Jazz is around." There was a pause, and then Lisa said coyly, "That's 'cuz she's in love. Jazz and Prowl-y sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G."

The woman was smiling very broadly now. "And then," she said, voice lowering to her best storyteller voice, "there was their leader, whose very name made even Megatron quake in fear and dread." The children gasped in fear and hatred at the Decepticon's name. The woman knew that they loved this part best.

"His name was Optimus Prime."

The children stared at her, wide-eyed and smiling. They had heard these tales before; heard tales even of more mechs, but even generations after Decepticon documents were recovered, Optimus Prime continued to be their favourite hero. The woman felt something cold settle in her heart.

"If only Optimus was real, then the 'cons would be gone just like _that_!" Lisa said, snapping her fingers.

"Well, we have Prime, and he's twice as good as Optimus," Shirley said loyally. "A bazillion times better!"

"Then what? Then what?" Lisa demanded, wanting to hear the story.

"And then…that's the end of the tale. Run along, now," the woman said, trying to sound cheerful.

"But you didn't even get to the story yet!" Shirley protested.

"I'm sorry, kids, but I have to find Jazz," she said apologetically.

"Really? Can you tell us why?"

"Nope," she said playfully. "Can't tell you. Autobot business and all." That seemed to impress something on the children, for they echoed the words "Autobot business," and jumped to their feet. Amidst shrieks and laughter, they ran to the arms of their guardians.

"Impressive, Ratchet," a voice said coolly from behind her. "That tale gets better and better each time you tell it."

The woman turned around. A long stretch of concrete and metal surrounded her.

"Do _you _want to be the one to tell them the truth?"

"Nah. I'll leave that to their parents."

"Come on out, Jazz," the woman snapped, stressing his title as he had stressed hers. "I need to talk to you."

"Come and find me then," he said in a sing-song tone.

"Times like these, I wonder why he didn't get the codename 'Sunstreaker,'" she muttered to herself as she marched angrily in the direction of the voice.

He was sitting to one side of a darkened hallway, his back against the metal wall. One legged was propped up, the other stretched out in front of him. In ebony-plated armour, he looked more shadow than man. His helm was placed beside him. His eyes were closed. He smiled thinly at her approach, and that only served to fuel her anger.

"Jazz, there you are. How dare you switch places with Prime? Do you have _any _idea—"

"Oh, come on Ratch," he said, not opening his eyes. "Our Red Alert is already beating my brow—"

"Why did you do it?" she demanded.

"He asked me to," he said quietly. On his knee, his fingers drummed to some beat that only he could hear.

"Well if he asked you to jump off a waterfall, would you do it?"

"Yes." The woman shook her head sharply, restraining herself from picking him up and just shaking some sense into him.

"Well if he asked you to push _him _off a waterfall, would you do it?"

"I'd die first."

"Then why the hell did you—"

"Do you know what I see when I look at Optimus Prime?" he asked suddenly.

"I don't see what this has to do with the topic. The fact is that you and Prowl let our leader wander into a den of monsters _by himself_—"

"Humour me, please Ratch?" he asked. He opened his eyes, and gazed at her. His eyes were bright crimson, just the way that _they _had designed him.

Black hair and red eyes for the boys. Blonde hair and blue eyes for the girls. Designer pets.

Her shoulders slumped in resignation.

"Fine. What then? What do you see when you look at the great Autobot leader?" Though she was surprised by the bitterness in her tone, the black-clad youth nodded understandingly.

"I see what you see," he said in that sing-song voice he relied on when he was too angry or too desperate to use any other tone of voice. "That Optimus Prime and his motley crew are actually inept piles of junk unable to save their own planet, let alone those of others." He placed a hand on top of his eyes. His obsidian technorganic claws rested on top of vulnerable flesh. "To think," he added bitterly, "to think that we actually used to…to _look up _to those things."

"That was when we thought they were myths," she told him. "Mythical beings. Pure. Infallible. We needed heroes, Jazz," she added, adopting a rare gentle tone. "We still do."

"I don't see anything worthy in him," he continued after a pause. "But…but…" His eyes narrowed in anger blunted by confusion. "But I think that…I don't know. My view of him is clouded, or something. Prime would know what to do with him. Prime _will_ know what to do with him."

"Optimus Prime offered us sanctuary again, didn't he?" the woman asked. The young man did not answer, but by the way he glanced to one side uncomfortably, she assumed that she guessed correctly. "How long will we continue lying to them_?_" she asked, gesturing back at the hastily made camp.

"Well, we show truth through lies, eh Ratch?" he said, smiling now and leaping up with dancer's grace.

The woman sighed, knowing that it was no use talking to him when he got like this. "At least inform me when he gets back so that I can ream him properly?"

"Oh, you'll know," he said. He was smiling impishly now, and twirled his helm in his hands playfully. "You'll be the first one he goes to, after all."

The woman turned away, hoping that he didn't see her blush. "Well, if he popped open his stitches or cracked his armour, he can go whine to someone else," she snapped. The light chuckle of the youth followed her through the tunnel.

**X x X**

In the recently established North American Autobot base, a couple of minibots waited uneasily around in the med-bay. They looked at each other, both of them wanting to get out of there. Ratchet was in a bad mood. The mech finally strode into the med-bay, irritated and angry, digging into his toolkit before turning to face them.

"Something wrong, Ratchet?" Backspace asked nervously.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Ratchet replied shortly, bending to reattach Capslock's leg. There was a pause.

"Is Optimus seeing one of his ghosts again?" Capslock asked boldly. Ratchet nearly dropped one of his tools.

"He is entertaining a guest," Ratchet said at length.

"Ghosts?" Backspace asked Capslock in a small voice.

"Yeah. You heard about them," Capslock said, turning to Backspace. "Ghosts of the humans who were here before we were. Ghosts of the Decepticons' victims."

"So…why are they here?" Backspace asked, his voice pitched an octave higher. "Why aren't they haunting the Decepticons?"

"Could be that they can't find 'em," Capslock said stoutly.

"You don't think that they think _we're _Decepticons, do you?" Backspace asked. If Ratchet weren't so highly trained, his hand would have trembled noticeably.

"Of course not," Ratchet snapped, making the two minibots turn to face him again. "And they are not _ghosts, _Capslock. They are quite alive." He turned around, fetched some more tools from subspace, and started working on Backspace's severed arm.

"Have you seen one, Ratchet?" Capslock asked.

"Yes, I have. Several, in fact. And I assure you two that they are not ghosts."

"Tell us about them," Capslock said. Upon the medic's glare, he added "Please," meekly.

Ratchet looked at the two young 'bots, weighing his options. He was against spreading gossip, but when Optimus' visitors first started arriving, most of the base thought that he was, indeed, talking to ghosts. There were even whispers that Optimus had a processor malfunction. Some of the 'bots were growing afraid and wary of the humans, which really didn't help the current situation.

Besides, if it kept these two hooligans still enough for him to finish working, then so be it. Surely a little bit of information couldn't hurt.

"Very well," he said. "There are many humans still out there," he began, soldering Backspace's now-fixed arm back into the shoulder socket. "There are some which are highly regarded by their peers. We do not know their names; they have given us none."

"Who are the human warriors? What do they do?" Capslock asked impatiently. Ratchet fixed him with a steely glare.

"Don't interrupt me," he said, continuing with, "Among them there is a great scientist, who cultivates technorganic plants to make the humans' armour. His brother is an equally talented engineer, an explosives expert."

"Sounds like Wheeljack," Capslock snickered. "Only better, because he actually explodes stuff on purpose." Deep down, Ratchet had to agree.

"Then there are twin sisters, bodyguards of their CMO. Their most prized possession is their mirror, and they swore to destroy anyone who dared to touch it." Ratchet finished soldering back Backspace's arm. The minibot swivelled it, giving Ratchet a look of appreciation.

"Thanks, Ratchet. Hey, is vanity common to all twins, do you think?" Backspace asked.

"Probably just a coincidence," Ratchet answered, turning now to stitching together some of Capslock's armour.

"Who else is there?" Capslock asked.

"Another hero to the humans is a dance master. Graceful on all stages, especially that of the battlefield," Ratchet said.

"I bet he'd get along well with Jazz," Backspace said. Ratchet turned away so that they would not see him roll his optics. He doubted that the human could get along with anyone.

"The humans also have a weapons expert, the one who equips and trains the other humans to work with charge weaponry." The two minibots looked at him in shock. To the Autobots, the charge weapons were legendary. They could kill drones in one blow, and leave mechs anywhere between the states of great pain and sheer agony for many days.

"Their CMO," Ratchet said, finishing up the stitches on Capslock's armour, "is a hot-headed woman, the kind of medic who would first hit you for your stupidity and afterwards heal you of your stupidity's consequences."

"Doesn't that sound oddly familiar to you, Ratchet?" Backspace asked sweetly. Ratchet gave the minibot a good thwack on the head.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," he said shortly. "Their tactician," he continued, "a secretive woman, but kind," he said. "She is the human resistance's second-in-command."

"Who's the leader?" Capslock asked.

"A man who has earned the respect of many," Ratchet said, finishing his work.

"Is that who Optimus is talking to right now?" Backspace asked. But Ratchet shooed the both of them away, telling them to tell Jazz to drag his aft in the med-bay.

Ratchet leaned against his desk, thinking. Optimus Prime was currently locked in his office with an…informant, for lack of better word. They also knew from experience that, should they try to force the door, the informant would slip quietly away, like a ghost.

Though the humans were not in plain sight, the Autobots knew that they were around. They would find bodies of Decepticon drones, torn, salvaged, and occasionally mutilated. They would hear explosions that weren't Wheeljack's. They would see shadows in the corner of their optic screens and feel something cold seep in their sparks.

Of all the races that the Decepticons had razed, only the human race had pride and fire that matched the Autobots. For that reason, the Decepticons were so intent on caging them.

"You wanted to see me, Ratch?" the saboteur asked, breaking Ratchet's musings. He reluctantly stepped into the med-bay. Having just been reamed by Red Alert, he had no desire to be on the wrong end of a wrench.

"Jazz," Ratchet said, deliberately and carefully putting tools away. Jazz marginally relaxed. "When our _guest _appeared while Optimus was giving you an audience, why did you leave his office?"

Jazz leaned carefully against the wall. "'Cause he asked me to," he said simply. Ratchet threw his hands up in the air.

"If he asked you to take down Megatron with a stun gun, would you do it?" he demanded.

"Yes." Ratchet resisted the urge to grab the saboteur's head and bash it into the table. If it didn't cure his stubbornness, it would at least free Ratchet from another idiot in the world.

"Well if he asked you to hit _him _with a stun gun, would you do it?"

"I'd offline first."

"Then why the Pit did you—"

"Do you know who's with him right now?" Jazz asked.

"I don't see what this has to do with the topic. The fact is that you let our leader lock himself in the office with nothing but a questionable human for company—"

"Humour me, please Ratch?" Ratchet glared at him.

"Fine. Who then?"

"The human they call 'Prime," Jazz said. He shook his head sadly. "Another scared kid. The leader of a people who once looked up at the stars, wonderin' what great things lay there. And what so happens to pop out of the sky? Giants who stick 'em in cages."

"The Decepticons were here generations before we were, Jazz," Ratchet said gently. He had caught on to Jazz's self-condemning tone. "The Council...well, there was nothing we could do."

"He is a difficult human," Jazz said finally. "Makes Prowl look like an easy-going 'bot and Red Alert look calm. But Optimus will know what to do."

"He offered them sanctuary again, didn't he?"

"Howd'ya know?"

"He always does."

"Do you think they'll take it?"

Ratchet looked at the far side of the med-bay. Ever since the humans had started revealing their existence, had started revealing that they were not eradicated from North America, Optimus had asked his team if they could gather human equipment to reconstruct human medical technology. That section lay incomplete and unused.

"No," Ratchet answered. "No, I do not think they will. Not now. Perhaps not ever."

"Well, you make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside," Jazz said, regaining some of his good-humour. "You gotta remember there's always tomorrow."

Ratchet was still looking at the other end of the med-bay. "Yes, I suppose so," he finally said.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **standard.

* * *

Other Side of the Mirror

**2**

_The resistance had split up again. It was often that way; on one hand, splitting up meant broken communication and divided resources; on the other hand, banding together in one large group tended to draw too much attention. So they had to alternate._

_Amongst the people who had been allocated to the fifth group were a boy and his father. The father was a broad-shouldered man, and what would have been at the very least plumpness in easier times was now a find layer of muscle. Like many adults, his skin was lined with implants and protected by a thin but effective layer of technorganic armour. His face was tired and worn._

_The boy was very young, maybe four or five, but that's a guess on his father's part. Ever since __**they **__had dropped out of the sky in an age long gone, time itself seemed to have stood still. The passing of time was marked only by the gradual change as one generation succeeded the one before, and by the increasing number of people killed or gone missing._

_The boy was holding his father's hand tightly as his father talked to another person. He was nervously eyeing a figure that was coming closer and closer on the right-hand side. The adults, engrossed in their conversation, did not notice._

_The figure was hunched over and dressed in rags, with her face hidden within a cowl. She moved jerkily, looking this way and that, as though searching for something...or someone._

_She stopped, and abruptly turned. She faced the boy's direction. She was still for a moment. The boy's whimpers died in his throat, and all he could do was cling to his father more tightly._

_The woman lunged suddenly, scuttling across the space between them and grabbing the boy roughly by the shoulders. She threw back her cowl, and the boy was terrified to see that only gaping emptiness existed where eyes should have been._

"_Billy," she screeched. "Have you seen my Billy?"_

_The boy's father pried off the woman's hands, calling for some help. He picked up his shaking boy and held him as the woman, still calling for her lost son, was taken away._

"_Dad," the boy said in a quiet, trembling voice. "How come the lady doesn't have any eyes?"_

_His father was looking on as the mutilated woman was dragged off by some officials and medical officers who were trying to calm her down. "Blonde hair...so they must have been blue," his father muttered absently, as if to himself. Then, noticing that his son was still looking at him for an answer, he said, in a level voice, "You'll understand in a couple of years."_

_His father was wrong about that, however. Just a week or so after he asked the question, the boy would find out the answer, and then he would understand completely._

In a medical tent and lying down on a cot, a young child, thrashing in his half-sleep, called feebly for his parents. He had fallen ill the day before, but it wasn't until a couple of hours ago that he took a turn for the worse. Standing beside his cot, a youth, barely out of childhood himself, caught a flailing arm and held the child's small hand in his own.

The child shivered, perhaps because of the cold organic-metal of the naked implants that lined the youth's hand and traced the path of veins and arteries, halting, for now, at his wrist. Then the boy sighed, becoming still, only his shallow breathing showing that he was still living.

"You're okay, there, Danny," the youth said soothingly, gently stroking the boy's hand.

Daniel opened his eyes slightly. "Dad?"

"Yeah, Danny. I'm here," the youth said, crouching down next to him.

"Mom?"

Across the cot, another youth placed her hand, also lined with implants, on top of the boy's forehead. He turned to look at her.

_I'm here too, Danny, _she signed with her free hand.

The boy gave a weak chuckle. "Because I could not stop for Death, Death kindly stopped for me. The carriage held but just ourselves, and Immortality."

_Don't talk like that Danny, _she signed, a look that bordered horror etching her features.

"You're not going anywhere," the boy's adopted father said. He looked at the boy's 'mother.' Daniel had always been nonchalant about his illnesses, but this was just _wrong. _For those words to come out of a ten year old child like that…it was _wrong. _

Daniel gave them a small smile. His eyes were already closed, and his next words were slurred, but were said in a light tone. "Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light."

_Yeah, kiddo, _his 'mother' signed, pressing the words against Daniel's other hand. Looking at the child sadly, she absently signed, _He's too warm_. The boy muttered incoherently, leaning in towards her touch.

There was a pause as they watched him. His breathing was shallow, but it was steady. Then the first youth sighed.

"What did you tell Ratchet?" he asked quietly. "She left in a hurry—looked pretty mad too."

She looked around discreetly. There was no one else in or around the tent. Facing him with a severe expression on her face, she signed, _It's Prime. He went to go see the Autobots._

"I thought Jazz was supposed to."

_Switched at the last moment. Prowl didn't know until she came across Jazz and made him tell her. I went to tell the other generals; Prowl went after him immediately. _

"So if she went after him, why'd she come back without him?"

_She'd be interrupting the talk. Also, she thinks that maybe Prime did this as a sign of faith or something. The previous Prime never showed up without bodyguards there._

A weak cough drew their attention back to the matter at hand. Daniel was still fast asleep.

Her free hand froze in the air for a moment, before signing, _I know Danny's a W.B.I.C—and a drug-born one at that—but he's a tough kid. Tougher than anyone expected. He'll get through this okay._

Both of them were silent, knowing very well that there was a good chance that Daniel would not make it through the night. The boy was a W.B.I.C—a human who was conceived in the wild, but born in captivity. They weren't hardy beings, especially those whose mothers were forced to take drugs during their pregnancy. The fact that Daniel was already roughly the age of ten defied the life expectancy for those born under his circumstances.

The aim now was to make sure that he reached his early teens, so that they could start the implantation process. He wouldn't be safe—no one was anymore—but he'd at the very least be much healthier.

_He won't be able to wait, will he?_ she signed slowly.

He rubbed the small hand absently, looking down sadly at this boy. Daniel needed parents—what he had were a couple of teens who were, in many ways, still children themselves. He needed a family—what he had was the resistance.

Some people would say that it was enough. More than enough. Daniel, if he had been lucid, would have agreed. Still, sometimes there were doubts on the part of his caretakers.

"No," he said finally. "We're not going to the hospital camp for awhile—scouts are reporting that there's been major drone activity there. There's an abandoned clinic just east of here. Some people tried setting up a permanent mini-hospital just a year or two ago."

_They got attacked? _

"Yeah. But, according to Tracks, there's still stuff left. I'll go over to see if we can get some meds for this guy."

_When do you leave?_

"Soon. It'll take me a couple of hours to get to the clinic."

_We'll have moved by then._

"Then I'll meet you guys at the next camp."

A pause, before she signed, _What did Red Alert say?_

"He wasn't happy about it. You know how he's like—wanted me to bring at least one other person."

_Sounds like a good idea, _she signed, shrugging. _An extra set of eyes is always a good thing._

He shook his head. "More likely to get seen—or worse, caught. All I need to do is get some meds, and even Red had to admit that it was in a virtually deserted zone. No 'cons, no drones, nothing."

_Info sounds spotty to me, _she signed, a frown tugging at her lips. _All our scouts are either located from here to the White City, or are watching out for our other camp locations. We're thinned out. _

"But all the drones are located in the same areas—not to mention watching the Ark."

Another pause passed, as they imagined their leader in that large behemoth, talking, perhaps even making an alliance, with the not-so-legendary Autobots.

_What did Jazz say? _she asked, giving him a pointed look. The whole resistance knew how Jazz felt about him going off on his own. _He'd let you go, but he'd want you to bring someone. He'd probably go himself, if he wasn't under Red Alert-imposed house arrest._

"Jazz doesn't know," he admitted finally. "He'll find out eventually—he always does—but I might even be back by then." He gave a small smile to reassure them both. He wasn't looking forward to Jazz's wrath, but Daniel did need the meds…

_Fine, _she signed, going over to his side. Gently, she held either side of his organic-metal lined face. He could feel the coldness of her organic-metal implants, and it soothed him. She looked at him with those blue eyes that had proven to be a curse at times, but still managed to regard the world kindly.

_Just make it back safely, _she signed, removing her hands.

"I will," he said. Turning back to Daniel, he stroked the boy's forehead and murmured, "I'll be right back, kiddo. Just hang in there for us."

_Catch you later, 'Bee, _she signed, using his nickname with a look of affection.

"See you later, Blue," he said. And with a look at the still form on the cot, he exited.

**X x X**

_Banishment. The rest of the Council had banished Optimus, and subsequently banished all those that followed him. He who had walked on Cybertron as a warrior-hero left it regarded as a vicious warmonger. In just an orn, half of Optimus' troops had abandoned him, choosing another Prime to follow._

_Everyone knew that Optimus spoke truly, but they were scared. They mistook this lull in battle as the end of the war, and did not heed Optimus' warnings of Megatron's return._

_The only other Prime who was sympathetic towards his cause had been Rodimus, and was thus banished with him._

_Of his troops who chose to stay with him, some, like Prowl, did so because they saw that Optimus was in the right. Some, like Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, did so because they still sought revenge. Some, like Red Alert, did so purely out of loyalty._

_Bumblebee, as he looked upon the ruins of a North American city, absently wondered into which category he fit, but was more engrossed by the landscape below him. What had once been cities were now rubble. Bumblebee was surprised and saddened to note that, whatever planet, the results of a Decepticon invasion always looked the same._

_Debris. Wreckage. Trash. Discarded weaponry. Torn armour. The smell of fire and smoke. The sounds of gunfire and worse that pervaded the air, save for those tense moments of silence._

_The soft sounds of whimpers tore Bumblebee from his musings. _

_Taking out his blaster, he cautiously made his way towards the source of the sound, using the fallen buildings for cover. Looking through a crack in one of the buildings, he saw what was making the sound._

_It was an earth creature. A fox, if what he remembered correctly from what Hound had told him. One of its legs had become trapped, stuck in the crevice of where two slabs of buildings fell on top of one another. To Bumblebee's horror, the creature was gnawing off the trapped leg._

"_Hey there," Bumblebee said softly, coming out and looking cautiously around. The creature stopped its desperate act to look at him. "I just want to help. Don't be scared."_

_It growled at him suddenly, ears pressed back and showing its sharp teeth. It tugged on the hurt leg, and started biting at it harder._

"_Don't do that," Bumblebee whispered, at a loss for what to do. Every time he attempted to move closer, the fox growled at him, and started gnawing even more ferociously._

"_Bumblebee," said a new voice, and a large hand came down on Bumblebee's shoulder. _

"_Optimus," Bumblebee said, somewhat startled. The much larger mech had managed to sneak up on him. Optimus was already looking at what had captured Bumblebee's horror and fascination. With deft movements, he walked over, and, doing what Bumblebee lacked the physical strength and size to do, lifted a slab of building, freeing the fox._

_It looked at Optimus for a brief moment, and then limped away._

_They watched it in silence for a moment, and then Bumblebee asked, "Why did it do that Optimus? It was only hurting itself."_

_Optimus was quiet for a long time. So quiet that Bumblebee thought that he didn't hear him. "We may be on a different planet, Bumblebee," Optimus finally said, looking at the spot where the small, hurt, proud, and pathetic form had melted into the shadows and buildings, "but we must never underestimate a being's will to live...and to be free."_

_Bumblebee hadn't understood what Optimus meant then, but it was less than five orns later that he found out for himself the lengths that humans went through to remain out of Cybertronian hands—whether Decepticon or Autobot. And then he would understand completely._

In the far-end of the med-bay and trying to put together what was supposed to be the frame of a hospital bed, a small mech, with a part in each hand, called meekly for his companions. Sitting atop Ratchet's counter on the other end of the med-bay, a minibot heeded his call, and the gunner that was talking to him followed, bemused.

The yellow, white, and orange mech looked up from his sitting position to his companions.

"What'cha got there, Wheelie?" Bumblebee asked, putting a relatively small hand to Wheelie's shoulder.

"Looks like a human recharge berth," Bluestreak said, leaning down to get a closer look.

"What Wheelie wanna know, why we not think this up long ago?" he said, gesturing all around to the skeleton of a human clinic. He was still determinedly trying to piece it together.

His companions sighed. "Well," Bluestreak said, sitting down beside the minibot. "First of all, we didn't know the humans still existed in here for about a quarter vorn, and then we thought that they were drones for a while, and then they kept running away from us for a good long while, and then—"

"The point is that there was never a reason to," Bumblebee said. "And, depending on how well Optimus and the humans' leader get along, there may still not be a reason to."

Wheelie handed Bluestreak and Bumblebee each some pieces, and all three of them (Bluestreak quite clumsily, because of his size) tried putting the thing together.

Bumblebee looked around. He kind of felt guilty about it, but he always tried to avert his optics from this section of the med-bay whenever he had to visit Ratchet. It felt eerie, and almost ghostly. It was as though this section had optics that bore into him, blaming him, accusing him silently and relentlessly. The fact that it was half-empty and not many of the parts were put together accentuated the effect.

Though Optimus had asked the Autobots to gather and assemble human medical supplies when they were not busy with their other duties, many of the Autobots disregarded the not-really-an-order-more-of-a-request. Ratchet, Prowl, Bumblebee, Bluestreak, and Wheelie were the only ones who really listened. Perceptor, Wheeljack, and Skyfire occasionally helped in the assembly, but even they had a strange sort of reluctance. Other mechs ignored the request completely.

Bumblebee used to think that Red Alert and the twins would never agree on anything. He was surprised.

The fact was that the humans had already made it clear that they were not going to accept Optimus' offer of sanctuary. They were scared, and the Autobots were wary and tired. The fact that human and Autobot scouting units got into occasional, panicked scuffles, also did not help matters much.

_Slaggit! _Bumblebee thought in frustration, nearly snapping the piece that Wheelie entrusted to him. _The Decepticons are the ones we should be fighting, not each other!_

But the humans, while admiring them—or, perhaps, the concept of them—to the point of naming their leaders after them, did not trust them. After what came to be called "The Pretenders Tragedy," just a year before the Autobots caught up to the Decepticons, Bumblebee couldn't really blame them.

But he could understand the bitterness of his comrades as well. It was tiring, really. They were banished from their home to save a race that was scared of and angry at them.

"It is rather empty," Bluestreak noted, looking around. "Looks more like an abandoned clinic than a clinic-in-process, but I guess it kind of takes time to do these things."

"Time…and parts," Bumblebee said, coming up with an idea. "Optimus Prime is talking with the humans, and everyone else is waiting outside his door. Everything's pretty quiet today—no drones, no 'cons—so why not? I can go get some supplies, and then maybe we can actually finish building something."

"What are you going to do, 'Bee?" Bluestreak asked. "The hospital's overrun with drones, and Red's never gonna sanction a squad just to get some human medical supplies—"

"There's an abandoned clinic just east of here," Bumblebee said. "Some humans tried setting up a permanent mini-hospital just a year or two ago."

"They got attacked?"

"Yeah. But, according to Tracks, there's still stuff left. It'll take me a couple of hours to get to the clinic."

"You want someone to go with you? If you want, I could—"

He shook his head. "More likely to get seen—or worse, caught. All I need to do is get some equipment and stuff, and even Red had to admit that it was in a virtually deserted zone. No 'cons, no drones, nothing."

"Info sounds spotty to me," he said, frowning. "All our scouts are either located from here to the White City, not to mention keeping an eye on Decepticon hotspots. We're thinned out."

"But all the drones are located in the same areas—not to mention trying to track down the humans."

Another pause passed, as they imagined their leader, talking, perhaps even making an alliance, with the humans.

"You gonna tell Red Alert?"

Bumblebee gave Bluestreak a long look. "That means no. 'Bee's gonna go," Wheelie burst in, in a sing-song tone.

"Nope," he admitted finally. "He'll find out eventually—he always does—but I might even be back by then." He gave a small smile to reassure all three of them. He wasn't looking forward to Red Alert's wrath, but he might not have another opportunity to do this…

"Well you should tell someone," Bluestreak said. "Jazz, maybe, because I think he'll be more sympathetic, and Red won't be able to yell at him so loudly."

"Right. I'll tell him before I go."

"Fine," Bluestreak said, patting the minibot gently on the shoulder. "Just make it back in one piece."

"Have fun, Wheelie," Bumblebee said, standing up to go. The other minibot nodded, still engrossed in his work.

"Catch ya later 'Bee," Bluestreak said as the yellow mech exited.

"See you later, Blue," Bumblebee replied, casting one last look at the haunted section of the med-bay before transforming to his alt-form and driving out.

* * *

**Author notes: **Daniel quoted first Emily Dickinson's "Because I Could Not Stop for Death." Then he quoted "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night," by Dylan Thomas.

There is a good reason why "Bluestreak" talks using sign language, and why Daniel talks by quoting poetry. It'll come out, but if you're curious, feel free to PM me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **Do not own Transformers.

Nods to His Dark Materials series and MGS4.

* * *

Other Side of the Mirror

**3**

It was a truth universally acknowledged that Cybertronian vents had horrible security. When making their way through the Ark, the human messengers usually came in through the vents, jumping over Red Alert's alarm beams and avoiding his security cameras, occasionally coming across Decepticon drones that they would dispatch and then salvage parts from.

They hadn't seen Lazerbeak since he and Jazz had a little run-in.

The human who had earned the title of Prime came in through another way, but nevertheless made it to the Autobot leader's office without being seen. He sat atop of pile of datapads, waiting for his counterpart to show up. As a Prime, he was never really disconnected from the mind-network that their implants connected all the resistance members to (not including the children). Through his implants he could vaguely feel the outrage and fear of the rest of the resistance, and tried to make his own mind as calm as possible in order to reassure them, to show them that he knew what he was doing.

He was the seventh Prime in the history of the resistance; the third Prime to know the existence of their 'mythical heroes'; the second Prime to talk with the Autobots; and the first Prime to consider an official alliance with them.

_Forgive me, Adele. I am about to do what I swore on your grave I would not._

He sighed, shaking his head. His eye fell onto the armoury that protected his hands, and, for some odd reason, he actually regarded it for a moment.

He wondered just how long it had been since he had actually seen the hands and the flesh that the armour protected. For adults, the armour became like a second skin—one's protector and best friend.

How long had he had his armour on?

Keeping the large door in the corner of his eye, he took off the armoury protecting his weathered hands and regarded the naked implants underneath, tracing the pathways of prominent veins and arteries.

_We've survived._ _Over two hundred years, and we've still survived. But at what cost? _

Implantation. Armoury. Experimentation. Drugs. Suicide. Self-mutilation. There were so many things that they had done and would continue to do in order to remain out of alien hands.

It was as though that, in a world dominated by machines, the only way they knew how to survive was to become machines themselves.

The door slid open, and he looked up, putting his armour on his hand again as he did so. Immediately, the technorganic exoskeletal armour attached to the lines of implants, becoming one again.

Optimus Prime walked into the room, rumbling softly in that scratchy, clicking language that the resistance had learned to understand and to despise over the one hundred and twenty-two years of the Autobots' absence. He was talking to another Autobot, this one, Prime remembered, who was called Jazz.

He thought of Jazz back at the resistance, and smirked underneath his helm. Their Jazz had met the Autobot Jazz once, and once was enough. Jazz had been disgusted at this easy-going, smiling, charming version of himself. That kind of thing just tended to annoy him.

"Optimus Prime," Prime greeted, giving a curt nod from where he sat.

The two giants froze. Prime saw the smaller one's optics glance in between him and his leader.

"If we can speak at another time, Jazz?" Optimus Prime asked quietly, this time in English.

"Sure, boss-mech," Jazz said in the same language, giving a jaunty salute to his commander and a nod to Prime.

As Jazz left, Prime sighed again. _Adele, Davin, I am so sorry._

Optimus Prime locked his door—as he always did with Prime's predecessor, as if to reassure them that there wouldn't be a raiding party with nets coming through the door—and turned back to him.

"Greetings, Prime," Optimus said, coming closer. Moving slowly and carefully, he kneeled at his desk, and the result was that he and Prime were optic to eye. He was careful to keep his hands from the desk, a gesture that Prime appreciated.

"Greetings, Optimus," Prime answered. "A message for you, from our resistance."

The message itself wasn't of any large consequence. It consisted of Decepticon movements and location of Decepticon scouting units, as it usually did. Half the information the Autobots would doubtless already know.

No, Prime was here for another matter.

"And what of Cage?" Optimus asked after Prime lapsed into silence. "He has gone from the White City, along with his drones, slaves, and…"

"His pets," Prime said quietly, finishing the sentence for him. There was an uncomfortable silence. Cage was relatively new to earth, having made planet-fall roughly the same time that the Autobots did, but he had taken to human-hunting like fish to water, soon outdoing many of the other Decepticons who had made hunting humans their chief business.

Nearly one-quarter of what had been left of the resistance after The Pretender's Tragedy had been taken because of him. "It has not escaped our notice," Prime said finally, "that such a prominent member of the pet trade has removed himself from the White City. Unfortunately, we do not have much information on him—he owns no B.I.Cs, and his captives are too broken to properly communicate with. However, our spies did say that he expressed interest in the Decepticon base in Europe."

Another uncomfortable pause ensued, and Optimus waited serenely for him to finish. He always did—Prime had once held the designation of Prowl, and had already made several reports to the Autobot leader by himself, as well as accompanying the previous Prime in the delivery of more pressing messages.

"He had said that the hunting grounds here are bare, and that Europe would give him better sport," Prime continued. "Though entrapment and razing occurred worldwide, up until fifty years ago, human domestication only occurred in North America. Now they are importing from other countries."

"That confirms our suspicions," Optimus said. "I will ask Rodimus to look out for him, and apprehend him if he can."

Prime regarded the behemoth before him impassively. Cage, while being a constant threat to the humans, did little, if at all, on the battlefield between the Decepticons and the Autobots. He was more of an amused spectator in that area. Using resources to keep his movements in check worked more for the humans' favour than for the Autobots.

"Thank-you," he finally said, though he doubted whether or not Rodimus would really care about their dilemma.

This was what Prime was here for: to weigh and to judge, to decide whether or not he could essentially trust Prime with his people.

Prime was the seventh Prime in the history of the resistance; and the first Prime to let himself and the other generals be seen by any Autobot other than Optimus. When the other Autobots looked at them, Prime knew that they saw desperation, stubbornness, primitiveness, and perhaps the embodiment of a race that didn't deserve saving, or that couldn't be saved.

The humans were watching the Autobots as well as the Decepticons. They had learned from The Pretender's Tragedy; they weren't taking any chances. They had learned that the Autobots were here for varying reasons; some for revenge, some for honour, some for the love of their planet.

But when Optimus was here…it was different. It was though he was regarding them as allies, and as equals, though both sides knew that the human resistance withheld information and gave information only when it was to their benefit.

They couldn't afford otherwise. After all, it was only because of discretion, doubt, and mistrust, that the human resistance still existed.

Optimus would offer sanctuary again, if Prime gave him the chance. At one time, the human resistance would have taken the sanctuary gratefully, gladly, and readily.

At one time, the Decepticons used this to their advantage.

How could Prime do this? How could he ask this great trust from his people? Almost everyone had at least one close friend or family member killed on the field. Half of the resistance consisted of former pets that were freed by resistance members or conveniently 'lost.' The other half had spouses, children, parents…someone that they lost to the pet trade.

_Adele…Davin…_

"Prime," Optimus started, and Prime tensed, ready to exit, "if you allow us to, we can—"

A loud knock on the door interrupted him, and as Optimus looked up, Prime chose that moment to exit the way he had come.

**X x X**

It was a truth universally acknowledged that one who is once burned is twice as shy. So it was with the humans. Though his comrades were quickly becoming tired of this suspicious race, Optimus Prime knew that patience and diligence was needed to win their trust.

They were on a strange planet; strange and distant. Some of the Autobots were vengeful, others compassionate, others bitter and reluctant.

"_Cybertron is finally at peace. Why must you go?"_

"_Cybertron's peace at another world's cost. This is our duty, Elita."_

"Greetings, Prime," Optimus said to his counterpart, coming to his desk with slow, deliberate movements.

"Greetings, Optimus," Prime answered. As among the taller of his species, Prime was slightly larger than the width of Optimus' hand. His voice was proportionally loud for a being so small. The leader of the human resistance stood up at Optimus' approach. Since Optimus had kneeled, the result was that they were eye to optic. "A message for you, from our resistance," Prime continued.

The message itself wasn't of any large consequence. It consisted of Decepticon movements and location of Decepticon scouting units, as it usually did. Half the information the Autobots already knew, though the other half was more valuable than the humans gave it credit for.

The humans were small, silent when they wanted to be, and moved like ghosts. Their size gave them an advantage is spy work, an advantage that even the mini-bots did not share. However, like the Autobots, the humans had other spies in place, using the cover of Decepticon captives.

Optimus regarded the human who was giving him a report in a flat, unemotional tone. Unlike the humans' Prowl and Jazz, because of his height and wide build, Optimus could tell that Prime was male underneath all that technorganic armoury without listening to his voice. Optimus recognized him as the previous Council's Prowl, but did not remark on it. It wasn't often that the humans' Prime came, and it was rare that he came by himself.

It was usually the dark-plated one, who came with the encroaching shadows. When he had first arrived with a message, he had said, "A message from our resistance to the illustrious Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots." With sinuous movements and a flourishing bow, he had introduced himself as "Designation: Jazz." He then delivered his message, mostly consisting of information concerning Decepticon movement outside of the White City. All the while, his tone would be one of sardonic amusement.

Their Jazz had met this human once already, and once was enough. Though the he never said anything, Optimus Prime knew that Jazz was more than a little disturbed by this living satire of himself, this distorted image, this cracked mirror.

If it was not the dark one, it was the one in the grey-white armour, who came with the falling snow and ash, slipping easily in and out of the debris. She would stand stiffly, giving her report about Decepticon movements inside the White City in a systematic tone, a tone that would have been impersonal had it not been for the undertone of hatred that punctuated her words. Whereas her dark counterpart was in charge of the humans' scouting missions, she was in charge of their spy operations. Rumour had it that she had spies and reprogrammed drones inside Nemesis itself.

They reported grudgingly, reported bitterly, but reported truthfully. They were too loyal to their Prime and to their resistance to do otherwise.

But when Prime was here…it was different. It was as though he was judging him, measuring him, only to ultimately find him lacking.

_They've survived. Almost three vorns and they have survived. But at what cost?_

Implantation. Armoury. Experimentation. Drugs. Suicide. Self-mutilation. There were so many things that they had done and would continue to do in order to remain out of alien hands…whether those hands belonged to Decepticons or Autobots.

Unlike the Autobots, who were sparked with all their weaponry, the human younglings were born naked and helpless. The adults of the species waited until the child began to enter sub-adulthood before beginning the implantation process - it was too dangerous to begin earlier. Claws and spurs were added first, and then gradually more and more internal implanting and external armour was placed in, the process completed by the time the human reached three decades of age. Their bodies were lined with external technorganic vein-like structures, which the external armour would connect to.

The adult human was fully decked in light, durable armour that would deflect general scans, though finer, more meticulous scans would probably discover them. Their claws and heels could discharge a powerful voltage. Decades of experimenting had brought together the perfect combination: a charge that was powerful enough to kill the smaller drones and leave the larger mechs in great pain for many days, but not powerful enough to overcharge their armour and burn them from the inside out.

It was as though that, in a world dominated by machines, the only way the humans knew how to survive was to become machines themselves.

The implants performed many functions. Among other things, it kept the humans' bodies young. Salvaging had shown the Autobots what aged humans looked like, and none of the implanted humans looked over mid-twenties. But organic bodies could only take so much before the cells gave out.

The implanted humans would live up to a century, if the Decepticons didn't get them first. It made sense when thinking about survival. The longer one stayed young and fit, the longer they could fight and defend themselves and their groups.

Many of the humans' adaptations were Decepticon-based. The implants were originally used for aesthetic purposes; the Decepticons used them on their human pets. Knowledge of basic implantation was one of the last things to be distributed worldwide before the Decepticons shut down all communications between countries.

Now the humans used it to their advantage.

The Autobots were morbidly impressed. They had come across planets before that fell before the Decepticons before the Autobots had arrived. None of them contained the life that was there before the Decepticons razed the planet. And yet these humans had found a way to survive. It was a pitiful existence, and yet they still remained all over the globe.

The Decepticons had come to this planet with the intention of razing it, as they had done with planets before: Gallivespia, Cittagaze, Svalbard, Mulefia…but it was here, on Earth, where the Decepticons started to build their new empire.

The White City grew each day, amidst the cries of both Autobot and human captives.

It started out the same as any other razing; human domestication was not on the Decepticon's original agenda. It wasn't until the humans took down Blackout with what primitive technology they had that they started becoming attractive.

"And what of Cage?" Optimus asked as Prime fell silent. "He has gone from the White City, along with his drones, his slaves, and…"

"His pets," Prime said, finishing the sentence for him. Optimus gave a small nod. Cage was a notorious human-trapper. The Autobots had been keeping his movements in track, but the humans had better information on him—on many Decepticons—than the Autobots did, even though the Autobots had spies and scouts in place for longer than the humans did.

"It has not escaped our notice," he continued, "that such a prominent member of the pet trade has removed himself from the White City. Unfortunately, we do not have much information on him—he owns no B.I.Cs, and his captives are too broken to properly communicate with. However, our spies did say that he expressed interest in the Decepticon base in Europe."

Another uncomfortable pause ensued, and Optimus waited for him to finish. He felt a strange sort of pity for this proud creature of an equally proud race, and knew that, despite what the humans wanted or even _needed_ to believe, like Autobot slaves, human pets would never lose their novelty.

"He had said that the hunting grounds here are bare, and that Europe would give him better sport," Prime continued. "Though entrapment and razing occurred worldwide, up until fifty years ago, human domestication only occurred in North America. Now they are importing from other countries."

Optimus nodded. "That confirms our suspicions," he said. Rodimus Prime and his crew were located in Europe, attempting at an alliance with their elusive resistance as Optimus was doing in North America. If Cage truly was there… "I will ask Rodimus to look out for him, and apprehend him if he can," Optimus said finally.

It was sometimes difficult to tell the feelings of these creatures, as their faces were covered up by the visors of their helms. Compounded with Prime's well-disguised body language and flat tone, Optimus could not tell if the human was surprised, grateful, or suspicious, though he thought that it was the latter.

"Thank-you," Prime said finally, surprising Optimus. If he had any doubts about their intentions, then he at least believed in Optimus enough to not voice them.

It was a step in the right direction at least. This Prime was more…trusting, for lack of a better word…than his predecessor.

The humans were proud, beautiful, suspicious…and vulnerable; more vulnerable than they ever wanted to admit.

"Prime," Optimus started, about to offer the sanctuary he always offered, "if you allow us to, we can—"

A loud knock on the door interrupted him, and as Optimus looked up, Prime chose that moment to exit the way he had come.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **Do not own Transformers.

Nods to His Dark Materials series and MGS4.

* * *

Other Side of the Mirror

**4**

_The boy tried keeping his eyes open, but it was so hard. The mist was everywhere, and it beckoned them all to sleep, lying to them, promising peace if they would just succumb and shut their eyes. There were screams, and shadows, and sounds of charge weapons futilely trying to cut through the misty haze of airborne drugs. His father was half-pulling, half-dragging him along, and when the boy's legs would no longer move, his father picked him up and ran with the rest of the people. "We're going to be okay," were the words his father had said before the boy dropped into a sleep-filled oblivion, just as their trapper intended._

_When he woke up, he was no longer in his father's arms._

_They were kept in cages, some on shelves and others hanging overhead, the metal wires criss-crossing so closely that the boy could barely fit a hand through the squares that the wires made. Apparently, their captor learned that leaving big gaps in the cages would lead to humans fitting their heads through them and, using the wires, snapping their necks in order to escape the inevitable._

_Songbirds. Decorations. Guard dogs. Pretty assistants. Lap pets._

_They were sedated most of the time, so that they didn't make any trouble or noise for the dealers, and were kept as wild as possible for the customers. Patrons would not think kindly of a dealer who had already started the breaking process, and Cage was a professional. Cage's pet shop was filled with the sounds of steady breathing, and the occasional moan as his captives tried in vain to awaken._

_Children younger than five were kept in the same cages as pregnant women or mothers. It was the most popular section of the pet shop. They huddled in the furthest corner of their cages, trying as hard as possible to stay away from prying optics and prodding fingers. The boy was half-lying, half-sitting, with his arms firmly around Hannah, the woman who was taking care of him and a handful of other scared and parentless children, and who was a few months pregnant._

"_Ah, greetings," said the voice of their captor. Speaking in the aliens' harsh language, Cage still managed to make the words sound smooth. "Here for another toy for your little creations? I trust you were pleased with what you bought last time?"_

"_Affirmative," said another voice, cold and monotone. "Previous purchase: adequate."_

_The boy woke up to these voices, trying to gather his doped wits. The sound of him stirring caught someone's attention._

_A shadow fell across his vision, and he looked up. Burning red looked down at him. It was small for an alien; it was just a head taller than his father. Because of its size, it had managed to make its way over to the other side of the bars. It had crouched down to above eye level, looking at him with its head tilted to one side and something like a smirk on what was probably its face. _

_The boy whimpered. Hannah's arms held him tightly, and she whispered, "Look away." He did as he was told, burying his face in Hannah's rags._

_But it was too late. "What lovely eyes," the alien said almost sneeringly in its scratchy, clicking language. Then, aloud, it said, "I want this one."_

The youth affectionately nicknamed Bumblebee exited from what used to be an almost finished clinic, looking carefully around before exposing himself to the surface. The meds that he came for were in a pouch strapped around his thigh. Though travelling lightly was important, he had taken more than Daniel would need, just in case another child became just as ill. Even though a combination of their implants and technorganic armour protected the adults from diseases that ravaged their ancestors, their children were still very vulnerable, especially the W.B.I.Cs.

He viewed the area around him. "Beautiful," he said sadly, softly, not even aware that he had said anything. The razed city was grey and crumbling and eerie…but still beautiful, no matter what was done to it.

The area where the clinic was located was known as Bolvangar—the land of the dead. It used to be a city, before the Decepticons razed it nearly one hundred years ago. He made his way through the rubble, claws half extended and spurs at the ready.

It had deceived humans before with its barrenness; humans who had not taken account the weak land surrounding the city. Bolvangar used to lie in the middle of a giant body of water, water that eventually became buried under dirt and debris.

It had taken so very little effort to cut Bolvangar off from the rest of the land.

Ever since then, the resistance had abandoned the hopes of setting up a permanent camp. They were safer living nomadically, underground, and in secret.

The youth stuck close to the debris and the scattered pieces of building material, taking his time and unwilling to expose himself even in this seemingly benign area. Skeletons of what used to be buildings still loomed, and the remains of vehicles that humans used to get around littered the streets.

Pausing in his trek, he placed an armoured hand on the remains of a car. All the glass had been shattered and swept away by wind and rain. The paint, which had once been bright yellow, was faded now.

It was useless to scavenge metal from this. It was just another remnant of the past, another reminder of what once was, of what could have been, and now, what could never be.

When the Decepticons had first landed, they had used alternative forms of human vehicles to blend in, to perform sneak attacks, and to generally mess with the humans' minds. Wasn't that car parked down the street a second ago? Did that car just drive by without a driver?

Which was a Decepticon, and which was just an ordinary car? The Decepticons still used alternative earth forms, even years later, as if to remind the humans that they were in charge of the planet.

He went on his way, sticking to the shadows and to the debris.

The grey-white mass of the bridge was a smudge in the distance when he heard a strange, low hum, followed by a series of clicks, then a loud roar. His breath caught in his throat.

_Drones. _

"So much for deserted," he muttered to himself. He could wonder why the drones were here later; he needed to get out now. He ducked into the next building, his heart pounding and hands curved stiffly, fully extending his claws. Soon, he heard the faint sounds of the drones, leaping and crushing debris, and knew that they were coming closer. He debated whether or not he could use his sonar system safely. It would allow him to spot drones from a distance, and figure out where they were and how many, but it did make the faintest of sounds that the drones had a good chance of picking up.

But it was either that, or he could stay where he was until they were on top of him, ripping him into little pieces…if he was lucky. If not…

He shook his head sharply, bringing himself back to the matter at hand.

He turned on his sonar, and caught a glimpse of many hulking shapes in the distance. They were right between him and the bridge.

He gulped. He was _not _going to try and make for the bridge. With what light weapons he was equipped with, he could take at most five drones, and that was if they came at him one at a time. He didn't want to wait for them to pass, either; they'd probably catch him. The only other alternative now was to make for the only other bridge, a whole day away, without being seen.

He slipped out, his heart thumping loudly in his chest.

He had covered three blocks when a sharp snap sounded behind him. He turned around, claws drawn and cackling. His armour was built for close combat, and if the drones were equipped with blasters…

He thought that he had caught a glimpse of something bright, perhaps something yellow, and no drones were painted yellow…but nothing was there.

He went on his way, still sticking to the shadows. The area he was coming across was dense with torn machinery and fallen buildings—better for him, as humans had the upper hand in close quarters combat. It would also alert him to any pursuers.

Another sound again. He whirled around.

Nothing.

Were they toying with him?

His hand strayed towards his sonar system, and he had activated it before realizing his mistake.

The drones had heard him.

A loud blast sounded, alarmingly close, and he abandoned all cover as the thumps and growls behind him rose to deafening proportions. He tore through the littered streets, leaping and tumbling over the remains of cars and tanks and copters and jets.

He turned a corner—and found himself staring into the empty optics of a Raptor drone. It gazed at him, the sharp claws on its little hands twitching. It bared its teeth, and lunged towards him.

He barely evaded it as the drone's head changed direction and its jaws shut a hair's width from him. Behind it now, he quickly sunk his claws in its neck, and tore downwards, exposing wires and circuitry. It howled, but he took no notice and struck again, this time discharging a powerful voltage into the drone.

It went down, but at a high price.

More howls behind him, and already one of his five charge weapons was depleted.

This was bad. He needed to get across the bridge and back with the resistance members _now. _

He ran again, but the drones were close behind. He needed a hiding place, a safe bunker or…or something; a place where the drones would not be able to find him.

_Raptors. Hard-hitters, but more for clean-up rather than combat. They're surface drones; great vision and great hearing but can't scan underground._

He needed a basement.

He forced himself to stay still for a precious second, taking into account the buildings around him. A collapsed building would be good, since it would make a thicker nest of concrete between him and the drones' scanners. Some of the buildings, though ravaged, were still standing, and the rest were rubble.

Except…

There was one there, looking more like a pile of debris rather than a former building. But the walls had collapsed in such a way, leaning against each other, that some of the basement still remained clear.

He dived into that one, scrambling through a barely visible hole and tumbling onto the ground, scrambling up quickly while checking to make sure that the meds in his pack had survived the encounter. He could hear the drones coming closer…then noticed that he wasn't alone.

He activated his weapon, but activated it too late. He found a blaster of silver metal, fully charged and barrel glowing, pointed right at his heart.

**X x X**

_When they had first found out that the human resistance still existed in North America, the Autobots tried to bring the humans under their care. However, everything was working against them; even the humans themselves. There was a mist of hatred and suspicion and fear everywhere, and the humans would sooner attack them than allow the Autobots to come near their temporary campsites. Bumblebee and Optimus were actually chased out of human resistance territory, a truck and a VW Beetle tearing through what remained of roads. Charge weapons and bombs, weak but still potentially dangerous, rained around them, and it was only through sheer dumb luck that none of them hit their mark._

_They stopped trying to approach the human resistance after that. _

_But they would always send in units when they caught wind of a Decepticon hunting party. However, the human-hunters were reclusive, out of the hearing range of their spies, and did not gossip or brag, for fear of competition from other 'cons in the pet trade. Extracting information and plans was very difficult, and they always got there too late._

_The Autobots tried taking in the survivors, tried caring for them, but after their first attempt, they swore never to do such a thing again…for the sake of both parties._

_Bumblebee vividly remembered the aftermath of one raiding party. The human resistance had split up, and one of the groups was badly hit. _

_The humans were crazy with fear, accusing the Autobots of being Decepticons in disguise. They would not listen to reason; they couldn't be kept in the med-bay, couldn't stand having huge metal aliens around them. Though they attacked the Autobots, given the opportunity, they didn't seem aware of them half the time. It was as though their very sanity had died. They would not eat; they would not drink; they would not sleep._

_The Autobots tried sedating them, to try and calm them down, but that just made things worse. Whatever awareness the surviving humans had in them, it went ballistic at the sight of a needle or gas mask._

_Three of the humans tried offlining themselves right inside Ratchet's med-bay. Five had found some sort of tool, a piece of glass…something seemingly benign but dangerous in desperate hands, and had started cutting themselves, muttering to no one in particular, begging them to leave them alone._

_One of the Autobots—Bumblebee didn't remember which—had remarked in a friendly manner to a young human that she had very lovely eyes, trying to charm her, to calm her, to make her feel better._

_Later, they would all find out that Ratchet barely came in time to stop the girl from gouging her own eyes out._

_They were so…so afraid. Afraid of the fates that the Decepticons had planned for them as songbirds, decorations, guard dogs, pretty little assistants, and lap pets._

_So afraid that they couldn't identify a helping hand when it was offered._

_After a lengthy discussion, they decided that releasing the humans back into the questionable mercies outside the Autobot base was ultimately better for them—for humans and for Autobots—than keeping them perforce inside._

_The only thing they could do was to wait for the humans to approach them._

A few blocks from the humans' former clinic, Bumblebee paused to look at the area around him. The remaining buildings stood, proudly and pathetically. Shattered glass and rock were strewn everywhere, moved by the winds and rains of time. "Beautiful," Bumblebee said, softly and sadly. The razed city was grey and crumbling and eerie…but still beautiful, no matter what was done to it.

A chasm separated the area from the mainland. The two areas of land were joined together by a hastily constructed and now crumbling metal bridge. He knew from Tracks' information that there was one other bridge further down, about an orn's walk away. Other than that, the area was completely isolated.

The humans had wanted to set up a permanent clinic. They did it in the underground, in the middle of a long-abandoned city, hoping that they could hide safely inside its interior. It did, until, because of their stagnant position, Cage eventually found them, and used their location against them.

The chasm was made by endless bombardment. Given the geographic makeup, it had taken only a few hours and a few drones. He had isolated the humans in a circular area of land, toying with them before sending in his aerial drones to pick off their defences. Then his drones constructed two bridges so that they could cross and capture the humans for the pet trade.

Bumblebee carefully walked over to a fallen human vehicle, trying to make as little noise as possible, as though he didn't want to disturb ghosts. He placed a large metal hand on it, thinking of the humans that rode around in these vehicles, humans that soon learned to fear the very things that were once so common to them.

To this day, the Decepticons still used alternative earth forms, keeping the humans afraid. Like human pets, the alternative earth forms were their trophies, visible proclamations that they had razed planet earth.

The only reason why Autobots used alternative forms was so that the Decepticons could not single them out as easily; an alien vehicle stuck out.

Bumblebee curled his fingers a little, digging his fingers into the metal of the car. It gave way as easily as clay.

He moved on. He still needed to get to the clinic.

He could see the entrance, ravaged by Cage's attack, when he saw a dark shape step out into the shadows of the building before disappearing into the shadows.

Quickly, Bumblebee ducked behind some debris. He took a quick peek through a crack in the wall. It took a while for him to find the thing, and it was only in Bumblebee's optic screens for mere nanoclicks; but a nanoclick was all he needed.

It was small, like all drones, and of a model that Bumblebee didn't recognize. He was still trying to figure out what exactly it was he was looking at when he heard a strange, low hum, followed by a series of clicks, then a loud roar. The energon in Bumblebee's wires ran cold.

_Drones. _

"So much for deserted," he muttered to himself. He could figure out what the drones were doing here later. He pulled his blaster from subspace. The first drone that Bumblebee had spotted coming out of the clinic paused, looking in the direction of the roar. Was it sending information to the other drones? It was small, so it was probably a scouting model, whatever it was. More importantly, which 'con was that information reaching?

Then the drone disappeared again, melting into the shadows. He tried scanning for it, but found that he couldn't. The drone had some sort of cloaking device in its metal. Bumblebee only had occasional visuals going for him. Soon, he heard the faint sounds of the other drones, leaping and crushing debris, and knew that they were coming closer.

He cursed himself for having let his guard down, but he had to move. Perhaps getting rid of the scout drone would confuse the rest of them enough for Bumblebee to make a quick getaway. The difficulty lay in _finding _the slippery thing and offlining the drone without it spotting him and alerting its fellows. If he could also get the information the drone gathered, it would probably help the Autobots in strategic planning. The information could tell them what the Decepticons knew about this place, and what they were planning to do with it.

He looked in the direction of the bridge, just a grey smudge against the grey sky, and knew that the drones were now right between him and the bridge. He could see that the drones had somehow infested the bridge that he had used to get to this area of land, at least a quartex ago.

He was _not _going to try and make for the bridge. With what light weapons he was equipped with, he could take at most twenty drones, and that was if they came at him one at a time. The only other alternative now was to make for the only other bridge, a whole orn away. But first, he had to deal with that scout drone.

He slipped out quietly, his spark pulsing loudly in his chamber.

He followed him from a distance, but the drone had stealth going for it. It was in and out of Bumblebee's vision, and was almost never picked up by his scanners. But Bumblebee somehow kept up with it.

Bumblebee was a scout, so he was much quieter than many of his comrades, but with the ground completely littered, he had to be very careful, or else he'd—

His foot landed on a pipe, snapping it in half. He ducked out of sight, blaster at the ready, hoping that the drone hadn't spotted him. It was a while until the drone started looked away from Bumblebee's direction and started moving again.

Bumblebee frowned, still following the drone and sticking to the shadows. The drone seemed very…intelligent. Whenever it was in Bumblebee's line of vision, it kept looking around itself, as though suspecting that it was being followed. The drone wasn't acting like most drones…but perhaps it was of a more advanced model.

The drone lead him to an area dense with torn machinery and fallen buildings—better for him, as drones did not do well in close quarters combat. As a mini-bot, he had the upper hand.

_Crack._

Bumblebee whirled around, just in time to see a Raptor drone came towards him slowly, its jaws open and showing a double row of very sharp metal teeth.

Behind him, he could hear the drone he was tracking make a soft sound, possibly alerting the other drones. It had disappeared before Bumblebee could stop it, but now he had a whole new threat to deal with.

Bumblebee blasted the Raptor drone, sending it offline with a single shot to the processor, but at a high price.

More howls behind him.

This was bad. He needed to get across the bridge and back with the rest of the Autobots _now. _

He ran, vaguely noticing that he passed two drones fighting—over what, he didn't know and didn't care—looking for a hiding place, a safe bunker or…or something; a place where the drones would not be able to find him.

_Raptors. Hard-hitters, but more for clean-up rather than combat. They're surface drones; great vision and great hearing but can't scan underground._

He needed a basement.

He forced himself to stay still for a precious second, taking into account the buildings around him. A collapsed building would be good, since it would make a thicker nest of concrete between him and the drones' scanners. Some of the buildings, though ravaged, were still standing, and the rest were rubble.

Except…

There was one there, looking more like a pile of debris rather than a former building. But the walls had collapsed in such a way, leaning against each other, that some of the basement still remained clear.

He dived into that one, barely fitting through the barely visible hole and landing ungraciously onto the ground. He picked himself up, retreating a bit away from the entrance, weapon at the ready. There was an agonizing silence, then the distant howl of a Raptor drone in pain, and then silence again.

Then…all of a sudden, Bumblebee was not alone anymore. Something small and dark grey-green slipped through the hole, landing on the ground right in front of Bumblebee.

He raised his weapon, but raised it too late. Bumblebee found a blade of black metal, alight with electricity, right over his spark chamber.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **do not own Transformers. Nods to His Dark Materials and MGS4 scattered around.

**Author note: **Sorry, rather short chapter this time. I'll make the next one longer.

* * *

Other Side of the Mirror

**5**

It had been a couple of hours since her companion had left, and the girl affectionately known as Bluestreak had been chased out of their crude med-bay and ordered to get some rest by their CMO. She was restless, however, and took her hunting rifle to aboveground, hoping to catch something and make a decent broth for her 'child,' as well as the other children. The woman who had earned the title of Prowl had joined her minutes after.

The woman was to the side, hidden in bits of ivy-covered debris. The girl was lying on her front, weapon at the ready, hidden in the foliage. Neither of them wore their helmets. With their blonde hair, blue eyes, similar facial structure, and the familiar way they talked with each other, a stranger would have made the wrong assumption that they were sisters.

Amongst the Council, Autobot names served one of two purposes. Some, like Prime and Ratchet, were job titles, handed down throughout the ages. Others, like Bumblebee and Bluestreak, were affectionate nicknames given to wards of the Council, to children whose only family was the Council and the resistance.

The girl's fingers unconsciously went to brush her throat, touching the spot where her captor had slashed at her, nearly killed her, and tore her vocal chords beyond repair.

The woman called Prowl gave her the name of Bluestreak. It wasn't out of cruelty, or out of an odd admiration for the irony of the situation. As a B.I.C, they were lucky that Prowl showed a sense of self at all, let alone a strong one, so they didn't expect her to understand irony or humour. She couldn't grasp the irony of a situation even if they took an hour to explain to her. No, she called the girl Bluestreak to demonstrate that she was someone precious to her, as Jazz called her companion Bumblebee to demonstrate that he was precious to him. The girl took an odd sense of comfort in that.

_Sara? _The woman did not respond. _Sara, come on. I know you can see this, _she signed, a frown on her face.

"Hm?" Prowl said, turning to her. "I apologize, Carly. That took a while to register."

_It's okay, _Bluestreak signed amiably. _You have a lot on your mind. _It was just like old times, when Prowl knew something she didn't—usually their captor and owner being in a bad mood—but didn't want to tell her, as though saying it aloud would make the threat more real than it already was.

"It's no excuse for negligence, though," Prowl mused, already getting that far-away look in her eyes again.

_Sara, you're not paying attention, _Bluestreak signed patiently.

"Apologies, Blue," she said, turning once again to her companion. "Is there something you'd like to ask?"

_I was just wondering—why? You know?_

Prowl blinked. "Why what?"

Bluestreak's hand froze in the air, trying to word this properly. _You know how humans used to keep pets?_ Prowl nodded. _They kept them for varying purposes—affection, aesthetic appeal..._

"Yes."

_Well…but it's different—what the 'cons are doing to us. It can't be about affection—we hate them. They have to __**break **__us to make us affectionate, or use drugs. They can't think that we're pretty, either, because they make us wear pieces of armour to make us look like birds or cats or whatever. It can't be about service, either, like seeing-eye dogs, because a lot of what they make humans do, drones can do, and a whole lot better…_Bluestreak's hand trailed off, faintly making half-signs as she waited for Prowl to say something.

"It isn't about affection, Carly," Prowl said, looking straight at her. "It isn't about how we look or the things we can do."

_Then why do they do it?_

Prowl didn't answer, and Bluestreak felt suddenly foolish._ Sorry, Sara. Guess it's a pretty silly question…_

"No, it isn't. Everyone wonders why, Blues. Everyone. It's just that not everyone can bear the answer."

She sighed then, and then gestured to Bluestreak's weapon. "When you are hunting, what is it that gives you pleasure? Is it taking down your prey so that we may have something to eat, or is it the entire thing—tracking down a doe or a rabbit, getting it in your sights, and pulling the trigger? What is it that makes you feel joy?"

Bluestreak paused, thinking about it. Though it sounded awful once she thought about it long enough, she would have to say...

_The entire thing—the thrill of the hunt, I guess you can call it. _

Prowl nodded. "It's a similar thing going on with the Decepticons," she said. "It isn't about obedience. It's about the breaking. It's about—" she extended an arm, palm open and facing the sky. "It's about taking a living, breathing will—" she clenched her hand in a fist, as if to emphasize her words, "—and _strangling _it with their own. Above all things, the breaking process is what they enjoy. Obedience just happens to be the consequence."

They looked into the distance. The White City was a grey smudge in the horizon, a malignant disease threatening to destroy them. _You know, _Bluestreak signed absently, _in addition to human pets, the Decepticons keep Autobot slaves? _

"Yes," Prowl said, nodding. "And…the first thing that our spies in the White City learn is the only difference between human pets and Autobot slaves is that the humans are in cages, and the Autobots in chains."

_I guess…at the end of it all, there isn't much difference between us, is there? _

"No, no there isn't."

There was a moment of quiet, and a doe stepped gingerly into Bluestreak's sights. _Guess I'll never properly enjoy hunting again, now that you put it that way, _she signed, turning silently to her weapon.

_It's been a while since our Bumblebee left, _Bluestreak signed a minute later, retrieving her prize.

Prowl nodded. "Spike should be back in an hour or two."

**X x X**

It had been a couple of joors since their companion left, and Bluestreak and Wheelie had been chased out of their med-bay by their CMO in order to make room for a soot-covered, armless Wheeljack. Wheelie had gone to the rec room, something about settling a bet with the twins, but Bluestreak took his rifle and went outside of the Autobot base, hoping to settle his feeling of restlessness by destroying some Decepticon drones. Prowl, off-duty now, had joined him breems after he had settled down.

The slightly larger mech was to the side, hidden in bits of ivy-covered debris. The smaller mech was lying on his front, weapon at the ready, hidden in the foliage. With a similar design in body structure and the familiar way they talked with each other, a stranger would have made the wrong assumption that they had a common creator.

Amongst the Autobots, there were two kinds of soldiers. Some, like Prime and Ratchet, had seen what peace looked like, and were fighting to attain peace once again. Others, like Bumblebee and Bluestreak, were sparked during wartime, and the only 'peace' that they knew were the tense moments of faux inaction, in which both sides scrambled to restock and rebuild. For mechs like Bumblebee and Bluestreak, the Autobots were their family unit.

Prowl had given him the name of Bluestreak after the sparkling had been found amidst rubble and bodies. Prowl had become somewhat of a guardian figure to the younger mech, and, when there was time and luxury for such sentimental feelings, Bluestreak took an odd sense of comfort in the feeling of security that Prowl never failed to give.

"Prowl?" The mech did not respond. "Prowl are you okay? Come on Prowl I know you can hear me. Proooowwllll."

"Hm?" Prowl said, turning to him. "I apologize, Bluestreak. That took a while to register."

"It's okay," Bluestreak said amiably. "I mean, I know you have a lot on your processor and all, you know what with Optimus still locked in his office with the humans' Prime and trying to track down Cage and trying to also track down the humans and protect 'em without them knowing anything and they are slippery things that makes even _my _logic processor rattle a bit so I know it's really hard to do so it's okay if your processor is up in la-la land."

"Indeed," Prowl said evenly. "However, it is no excuse for negligence." But even as the SIC said those words, his optics had already turned in another direction.

"Prowl? Come on Prowl you know I can do this for forever, and when it comes to getting attention the unstoppable force is going to beat down the immovable object."

"Apologies again, Bluestreak," Prowl said, turning once again to his companion. "Is there something you would like to ask?"

"I was just wondering—why? You know?"

Prowl's optics shuttered. "Why what?"

"Well, you know how the Decepticons keep drones? They keep them to keep out _our _spy-drones, they keep them as an extra tool or weapons of sorts on the battlefield, they keep 'em to do labour and stuff like that, or they keep 'em so that they can experiment with weapons on them?"

"Yes?"

"Well, in a sense I can get why the 'Cons are make Autobots slaves—'cuz they're like trophies or something to them, and besides, they're a lot stronger than drones and can do heavy labour," Bluestreak said, his hatred and disgust showing in his words. "But what I don't get is why they're keeping the humans. I mean it's not like—not like…"

"Not like the humans are as useful to the Decepticons as drones or Autobots?"

"Well…well yeah. I mean, I guess this sounds bad in a way, but I'm just wondering why the 'cons are doing all these things to the little guys. I mean, they make them take drugs and wear armour, Prowl! From what our scouts have been telling us, it sounds like a lot of 'em don't know that they're even human! All this…it can't be about obedience or usefulness or service or whatever…" Bluestreak trailed off, waiting for Prowl to say something.

"You are correct, Bluestreak," Prowl said, looking straight at him. "It is neither about obedience nor about utility."

"Then…then why? It is because they're just plain evil, or something?"

Prowl didn't answer, and Bluestreak felt suddenly foolish. For goodness' sake, he was a soldier! He wasn't that frightened youngling anymore. He was past the age where he thought there was a thick line between good and evil, where he thought that the good guys always won and no one innocent got hurt… "Real sorry, Prowl, guess it's a pretty silly question…"

"No, it isn't. Everyone wonders why, Bluestreak. Everyone. It's just that not everyone can bear the answer."

Prowl sighed then, and then gestured to Bluestreak's weapon. "When you are hunting, Bluestreak, what is it that gives you pleasure? Is it taking down the drone so that we may have spare parts in times of emergencies, or better security, or is it the entire thing—tracking down a drone, getting it in your sights, and pulling the trigger? What is it that makes you feel joy?"

Bluestreak paused, thinking about it. Though it sounded awful once he thought about it long enough, he would have to say...

"The entire thing—the thrill of the hunt, I guess you can call it, or was it Jazz or Sunstreaker? Well, anyway, someone said it."

Prowl nodded. "It's a similar thing going on with the Decepticons," he said. "It isn't about good or evil—not exactly." Prowl paused, and Bluestreak waited for him to gather his thoughts—a process that always seemed to take a bit longer when they were speaking about the humans. "Do you know, Bluestreak, that humans seem to be strange creatures of this planet? All the other creatures of the earth—many stronger and more terrifying—will be content living in a cage, as long as they have food and space. To humans—no. No human can live happily in a cage, not whole and unbroken, anyway. It isn't about obedience. It's about taking a living, breathing will and stranglingit with their own. In both the cases of their Autobot and human captives, the breaking process is what they enjoy. Obedience just happens to be the consequence."

"When you put it that way the humans sound a lot like us," Bluestreak said quietly.

"Exactly," Prowl said. "You will learn more about this later, Bluestreak, but Megatron owns thirteen human pets, no more and no less, each with specific characteristics. As each captive dies, Megatron looks for replacements with those characteristics. There are two beings that Megatron is especially possessive of. The first has red hair and blue eyes; the second is an albino, a human with white hair and red eyes."

Silence descended, and Prowl and Bluestreak looked into the distance. The White City was a grey smudge in the horizon, a malignant disease threatening to destroy them.

"That sounds…very creepy," Bluestreak said finally, not able to find the right words to describe how that sent shivers right into his very spark. "I guess…at the end of it all there isn't much difference between the humans and us is there?"

"No, no there isn't. And what you need to know, Blue, is that the only difference between an Autobot slave and a human pet is merely that the Autobot is kept in chains, and the human in a cage."

There was another moment of quiet, and a drone stepped gingerly into Bluestreak's sights. "You know Prowl I know you needed a metaphor and all but I don't think that I'll ever enjoy drone-hunting again now that you put it that way," Bluestreak said quietly, turning silently to his weapon.

"It's been a while since Bumblebee left,"Bluestreak said a click later, retrieving his prize.

Prowl nodded. "He should return in a joor or two."


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **standard.

**Author note: **About Megatron's thirteen "pets" mentioned in the last chapter: I apologize if I misled anyone, because they will not hold an important role in this fic. This fic deals with 'outside' of the White City, with those who escaped and are trying to survive, and how the Autobots are dealing with them. In short, we will not be meeting the thirteen. The only really pertinent information you should know is that there is _always _thirteen, each having specific characteristics, and if one dies then there's a whole human-hunting frenzy, because Megatron gives out a crazy reward for the hunter from whom he acquires his new pet.

There are thirteen in an allusion to the thirteen original transformers.

Kudos to Xanderfox! Yup, the red-haired captive is a proxy for Optimus.

The albino human is a proxy for himself. Despite this, Megatron treats the albino human and the red-haired human equally, and is freakishly possessive of both. It's, as Bluestreak put it, rather creepy.

Thanks for reading!

* * *

Other Side of the Mirror

**6**

_There were two ways to break a human. One was called "M-method," the other "S-method," and everyone knew it was because of the two Decepticons who created the disciplines, though of course no Decepticon was stupid enough to say it aloud. There was a one-sided competition going on between the two methods, just as there was a one-sided competition going on between their two inventors. _

_The S-method involved a cocktail of drugs to subdue the humans, and its inventor boasted that it broke humans more quickly and more efficiently. The inventor of the M-method, however, snidely claimed that a drugged human was not the same as a broken human. His method involved locks, cages, chains, collars, and accessory B.I.Cs holding down the struggling free-borns and forcing them into implants and armoury, making them look like something that they weren't. The M-method ended when the human forgot that he or she was human._

_The boy had been the original purchase, but then another one of the demons had claimed that it wanted to see what a newborn squishy looked like, and whined until Soundwave gave in. So Hannah was bought as well. _

_Because of their "father's" loyalty, Frenzy and Rumble were openly M-method trainers, though they had closet S-method tendencies, like the majority of the Decepticons. Though the boy was an M-method victim, drugs were used as a form of punishment, and he soon began to obey because, as frightening as being trapped in a cage was, it was more frightening to be trapped inside your own mind._

_Hannah, however, had the full S-method treatment. Since she was not a showcase pet like the boy was, and thus would never be seen by Megatron, Soundwave couldn't care that his creations were using "the wrong method." Even when the boy grew up and got free, he could only remember two instances where Hannah had been sober and lucid: once, when she finally gave birth to her baby boy and named him Daniel, and the second time, when she had aided in their escape, killing herself before she could be caught._

_After Daniel was born, he required constant care that Hannah could not give him and that their captors would not give him. Most W.B.I.Cs simply died of neglect, but the boy refused to let that happen to Daniel._

The hunter drones ran over their hiding place. Dust and small rocks rained down. The tremors caused a shift in the debris above, and pieces of concrete blocked the entrance, closing them in completely. Then the tremors stopped, but he could tell from the muffled screeching and scratching sounds that the drones weren't gone. They were around the hiding place, possibly right on top of them. The small collapse was a temporary relief, as there was no entrance that neither the drones nor their controller would spot and investigate. He could figure out how to get out later.

Now he had a more pressing concern. The boy, seeing that the Cybertronian had hesitated, would have gone in for the disabling blow, but the noise that the falling body would have made would have alerted the drones to their presence.

Then he noticed the conspicuous red insignia.

He appraised the robot, tearing his eyes away from the charged blaster to give a quick up-and-down glance. This robot was much smaller than many of his fellows, but bigger and more compact and broader than cassettes, marking him as a mini-con. Cool blue optics looked down at him, but there was more surprise in there than anger. His weaponry was light, and had less power than those of most mechs, equipped for a silent disabling blow rather than a full-on attack.

Small, panicked scuffles between human and Autobot units happened occasionally, with both groups choosing to strike first and think later. After a particularly bad situation with their Sunstreaker and Sideswipe (Sunstreaker had the blade at her heels threatening to dig into the neck of one Autobot, while Sideswipe was trapped by another Autobot, and each side was demanding that their hostage be released first), Prime had circulated pictures of the Autobot forces, with orders that the humans be wary of, but not immediately strike, these Autobots.

Names hadn't come with the photos, but he distinctly remembered the yellow paintjob and the almost comical horns. This was definitely an Autobot.

He moved away, withdrawing his weapon. The Autobot did the same, mirroring his movements as he backed off and powered down his blaster. He could still hear the scratching and screeches of the drones, discontented that their prey got away from them.

He was stuck in underground with an Autobot, surrounded by drones, with a sick child waiting for the meds that he was supposed to be bringing.

Well, he supposed that he should be thankful that there were no Decepticons around...That would just make his day complete…

"Did you find something, my pets?" an amused voice said in Cybertronian. The boy's attention snapped from the Autobot and his gaze looked in the direction of the voice. It came from somewhere above them. Even though Cybertronian was a harsh-sounding language at best, what with all the clicks and whirs and screeches, the speaker still managed to make the language sound smooth.

He recognized the voice in an instant, and his eyes narrowed. His fingers itched for his weaponry.

What the hell was Cage doing here?

"What did you see?" the voice continued, taking on a crooning quality. "A small drone? A lost Autobot? A little wayward human, perhaps?"

The drones only made more enraged screeches, and Cage gave a dark chuckle. "Well, just as well. If it was an Autobot, then he is long gone. If it was a human…well, it'll soon have a little bit of company."

The boy held himself tightly, restraining himself from drawing out his claws as instinct screamed at him to do. He wasn't very good at reading Cybertronian expressions, but the Autobot seemed to be as surprised as he felt.

"This place is perfect," Cage continued, his voice softer now. Perfect? Perfect for what? The boy strained to catch what he was saying. His words were followed by the screech of metal against metal, and the boy knew that he was…_petting _his drones. "What do you think of a human sanctuary, hm? A place where we can keep the humans wild, but at an easy, convenient distance for the picking?" Just under his confusion, the boy felt his panic rising, and he forced it down. Panicking wouldn't help anyone, least of all himself, not in this situation. More screeches. Cage laughed. "Come, then. I must bring my other pets across."

The mob started to move away, and it seemed to take forever for the noises to stop.

As soon as he felt that it was safe, he turned on his scanner, his gaze never leaving the unmoving Autobot. One or two drones appeared at the very edges of his scans, but he could deal with that.

Again forcing down his panic, he quickly went over what he just learned. Cage wasn't in Europe. He was planning something, but what—

He suddenly remembered where they were. Bolvangar. Completely isolated, save for two crumbling bridges. There might as well have been a huge cage around the entire place. And what was it that Cage said…

_What do you think of a human sanctuary? _

No. It couldn't—

Completely ignoring the Autobot, he tried contacting the rest of the resistance, but he just got static. Either it had gotten smashed around during his earlier drone confrontation, or Cage had already set up communication device jammers in anticipation of his future captives.

From the corner of his eye he caught the Autobot fumbling around, as though trying to contact his own comrades with about as much success. Jammers it was.

He needed to warn the rest of the resistance, which meant getting to the other bridge before it, too, became infested with Cage's drones. For all he knew, it could have been, but it was still a chance. He refused to be trapped here.

After trying and failing to call for backup, he and the Autobot were in a standstill.

The Autobot made the first move, by subspacing his weapon. "Alright, um…person," he said in English, putting his hands up in a placating gesture. The boy was surprised. The English voice sounded so…human. "I think we kind of got off on the wrong foot," the Autobot continued. "I'm Bumblebee, from the Autobots." The Autobot—Bumblebee—held out a hand, and took a small step forward. It was a friendly gesture, but all he could think about was how easily that hand could crush his, and it was all he could do to not take a step back.

As if reading his thoughts, Bumblebee withdrew his hand, putting it up in that placating gesture again. "I know you really want to bolt right about now, especially with what we just heard, but just hear me out," he continued. "This place is crawling with drones, and I don't know about you, but my weapons right now aren't going to last forever. They'll need to recharge sometime, and that other bridge is a whole…er…what do you call it? Day. That other bridge is a whole day away."

The boy stared. Was Bumblebee saying what he thought he was saying?

"We'll get to the bridge together, cross it, and then go our separate ways. You to your base and I to mine. That's it. I won't follow you, I won't track you, I won't even tell anyone that I met you. I swear on my spark and on my honour as an Autobot."

The boy considered the offer. Bumblebee was obviously an Autobot, and just as obviously didn't mean him any harm, otherwise he either would have been shot or would have been given up to Cage in exchange for freedom. Word on the grapevine was that resistance members had a crazy increase in market value. One of his limited charge weapons was already depleted, and he was in a drone-infested area. Because of the distance from their camp, Jack and Carly wouldn't be expecting him for an hour, maybe more. And, most importantly, Cage was here, planning to entrap the resistance in the land of the dead. The sooner he told Prime, the better.

He could give a little trust to get out of here. He gave a deliberate nod, and then moved to the entrance, trying to push away the debris.

"Excuse me," Bumblebee said, and he scrambled out of the way as Bumblebee cleared the entrance with one swift movement. "After you," he said amiably, gesturing towards the entrance.

He hesitated for a moment, and then blurted out, "Thanks," before going through.

**X x X**

_There were two ways to break an Autobot. One was called "M-method," the other "S-method," and everyone knew it was because of the two Decepticons who created the disciplines, though of course no Decepticon was stupid enough to say it aloud. There was a one-sided competition going on between the two methods, just as there was a one-sided competition going on between their two inventors._

_The S-method involved the installation of a variety of programs and viruses to subdue the Autobot, and its inventor boasted that it broke Autobots more quickly and more efficiently. The inventor of the M-method, however, snidely claimed that a reprogrammed Autobot was not the same as a broken Autobot. His method involved locks, cages, chains, collars, and accessory drones holding down the struggling Autobots as their exteriors were changed, making them look like something they weren't. The M-method ended when the Autobot forgot that the Decepticons were ever enemies, were ever equals instead of masters._

_Bumblebee had seen the victims of both methods. Some they were able to save; others were too far gone, and no matter how hard they tried, the Autobots' sparks faded away while they stood by helplessly. _

_And then…then he learned that a similar thing was being done to the humans. At a distance, he watched how some escaped and rescued humans flourished in their freedom, and how others simply expired. _

_The Autobots and the humans were very different, it was true, but there were so many things that made them one and the same. _

The hunter drones ran over their hiding place. Dust and small rocks rained down. The tremors caused a shift in the debris above, and pieces of concrete blocked the entrance, closing them in completely. Then the tremors stopped, but he could tell from the muffled screeching and scratching sounds that the drones weren't gone. They were around the hiding place, possibly right on top of them. The small collapse was a temporary relief, as there was no entrance that neither the drones nor their controller would spot and investigate. He could figure out how to get out later.

Now he had a more pressing concern. Bumblebee, seeing that his adversary had hesitated, would have made a move to disarm him, but the noise that the struggle would have made would have alerted the drones to their presence.

Then he noticed an inconspicuous insignia, nearly the same colour as the surrounding armour—the insignia that the humans had, in earlier times, copied off of image files that they stole from the Decepticons, and adopted it in defiance against the Decepticons.

He appraised his potential attacker, tearing his attention away from the still-glowing charge weapon to give a quick head-to-toe glance. This being had a small, lithe figure, and whereas most drones and most Cybertronians had a very box-like design based on harsh angles, this figure's armour was smooth and rounded. He couldn't see any face behind the battle mask, but judging by the stance and the almost uncertainty with which he or she held his or her weapon, this being was more surprised than angry. His or her weaponry was light, and had less power than other charge weapons. He or she was obviously built for speed rather than full-on battle.

Small, panicked scuffles between human and Autobot units happened occasionally, with both groups choosing to strike first and think later. After a particularly bad situation with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe (Sunstreaker was borderline crushing one human in his grasp while Sideswipe was trapped by another human, and each side was demanding that their hostage be released first) Optimus had circulated holograms of a fully-armoured human and hastily shot photo-files, with orders to be wary of, but not immediately strike, any being that happened to resemble what was in those files.

The holograms and photos were blurry at best, as the humans rarely stood still around an Autobot long enough, but he was sure that this was a human.

He moved away, withdrawing his weapon. The human did the same, mirroring his movements as he powered down and retracted his blade. He could still hear the scratching and screeches of the drones, discontented that their prey got away from them.

He was stuck underground with a scared human and surrounded by vicious drones.

Well, he supposed that he should be thankful that there were no Decepticons around…That would just make his orn complete…

"Did you find something, my pets?" an amused voice said. Bumblebee's attention snapped from the human and his gaze looked in the direction of the voice. It came from somewhere above them.

He recognized the voice in an instant, and his optics narrowed. His fingers twitched for his weaponry.

What the Pit was Cage doing here?

"What did you see?" the voice continued, taking on a crooning quality. "A small drone? A lost Autobot? A little wayward human, perhaps?"

The drones only made more enraged screeches, and Cage gave a dark chuckle. "Well, just as well. If it was an Autobot, then he is long gone. If it was a human…well, it'll soon have a little bit of company. This place is perfect," Cage continued, his voice softer now. Perfect? Perfect for what? Bumblebee strained to catch what he was saying. The words were followed by the screech of metal against metal as Cage stroked his drones. "What do you think of a human sanctuary, hm? A place where we can keep the humans wild, but at an easy, convenient distance for the picking?" Just under his surprise and confusion, Bumblebee felt sick and disgusted, and he once again restrained himself from his weaponry. Anger wouldn't help anyone, least of all himself and the human he was trapped with, not in this situation. More screeches. Cage laughed. "Come, then. I must bring my other pets across."

If possible, Bumblebee's disgust deepened. Cage's "other pets" would be the Autobot slaves and human captives he kept with him.

The mob started to move away, and it seemed to take forever for the noises to stop.

As soon as he felt that it was safe, he turned on his scanner, his view screens never leaving the human, who was fumbling around his equipment—probably for his own scanner, or for a communication device to warn the other humans that Cage was still here, and was planning something.

Bumblebee had a sneaking suspicion as to what it was, and their location boosted that suspicion to near certainty. Their location was completely isolated, save for two crumbling bridges. There might as well have been a huge cage around the entire place.

Cage's plan seemed to be to trap the humans here. That would cut them off from the Autobots. And what was it that Cage said…

_What do you think of a human sanctuary?_

No. It couldn't—

Still keeping the human in the corner of his view screens, lest he or she try to disappear on him, he tried contacting the Autobots, but he just got static. Either it had gotten smashed around during his earlier drone confrontation, or Cage had already set up communication device jammers in anticipation of his future captives.

He saw the human fumbling around, as though trying to contact his or her own comrades with about as much success. Jammers it was.

He needed to warn the Autobots, who would move to protect the humans, which meant getting to the other bridge before it, too, became infested with Cage's drones. For all he knew, it could have been, but it was still a chance. He refused to be trapped here.

After trying and failing to call for backup, he and the human were in a standstill.

The human held him or herself tensely, as though waiting for Bumblebee to do something. That disappointed Bumblebee, somewhat, that the human would still be so scared of him when it was obvious that he meant him or her no harm, and Bumblebee slowly subspaced his weapon. "Alright," he started, and wondered how to properly address this being.

Calling him or her, "Hey, you," sounded to forward, and addressing him or her as "human" had negative connotations because of how the Decepticons addressed their pets. So he settled for, "Person," he said finally, and put his hands up in a placating gesture. The human tensed up, as though startled, and Bumblebee kept himself still to look as unthreatening as possible. "I think we kind of got off on the wrong foot," he continued after a pause. "I'm Bumblebee, from the Autobots." He held out a hand to try and mimic what he believed to be a friendly human gesture. But the human just seemed to look down at his hand, as though confused, so Bumblebee withdrew it, thinking that he got the gesture wrong. He placed his hands slightly in the air again. The placating gesture, it seemed, was universal, and the human would probably understand it.

"I know you really want to bolt right about now, especially with what we just heard, but just hear me out," he continued. He wanted to get out of here, but he had a responsibility to make sure that the human got out too, and warned his or her resistance. And though Bumblebee knew better than to underestimate the human race, he didn't think that a lone, lightly equipped human could make it through to the other bridge when there were tens if not hundreds of drones between him or her and the crossing.

"This place is crawling with drones, and I don't know about you, but my weapons right now aren't going to last forever," he continued. It wasn't technically a lie; his weapon would have to recharge some time, but the human's weapon would die out long before his did. On the other hand, no need to tell the human that. He or she would just be made more nervous, knowing that about his or her travelling companion whom they were wary of. "They'll need to recharge sometime, and that other bridge is a whole…er…what do you call it?" Bumblebee stumbled for the word, and the human remained silent. "Day," Bumblebee said, hoping he got the right word. "That other bridge is a whole day away."

The human still remained silent, and Bumblebee thought he or she didn't accept because he or she didn't want Bumblebee to know where the human resistance was located.

"We'll get to the bridge together, cross it, and then go our separate ways. You to your base and I to mine. That's it. I won't follow you, I won't track you, I won't even tell anyone that I met you. I swear on my spark and on my honour as an Autobot."

The human was still silent, and Bumblebee was worried that he or she would reject the offer. He couldn't keep the human by force, but Bumblebee knew for a fact that humans' charge weapons, though powerful, depleted easily, and they were in a drone-infested area. If he or she was sent here, he or she would probably not be expected back by the other humans for a joor or two. Because of his distance from the base, Jazz and Bluestreak wouldn't be expecting Bumblebee himself for joors. Most importantly, Cage was here, who would not pass up the opportunity to catch a lone resistance member for the pet trade.

Then the human gave a small nod, surprising Bumblebee. By the time Bumblebee registered the acceptance of the offer, the human was already at the entrance, trying to push away the debris. After a moment of watching, Bumblebee moved forward. "Excuse me," he said, and the human scrambled out of the way as he cleared the entrance with one swift movement. "After you," he said, gesturing towards the entrance.

"Thanks," the human said suddenly. It was the first thing he or she said (Bumblebee didn't hear enough of the human's voice to be sure of gender), and Bumblebee was caught off-guard once again. The human was through the entrance in what seemed to be a nanoclick, and Bumblebee followed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **do not own Transformers.

**Author note: **minor changes to first half of chapter 5.

* * *

Other Side of the Mirror

**7**

The man who had earned the title of Red Alert stood outside his commander's makeshift office. Upon his presence, the children who had clustered around the office scattered, knowing that the two highest ranking generals were going to have a talk. Though Prowl held the official title of second-in-command, everyone knew that, should anything happen to Prime, it would be Red Alert who would inherit the title.

Red Alert stood before the entrance calmly, and only the way that his fingers repeatedly brushed his neckline, tracing the ghost of a collar, betrayed his anxiousness. It was a strange twitch of his that years of freedom had not managed to knock off.

Red Alert had to tell their Prime something, something that the rest of the generals and even some of the troops knew. However, Ratchet was too angry with him for running off, Jazz was under quarantine and wouldn't voice the thought aloud anyway, Prowl was off meeting one of her contacts, and Perceptor and Wheeljack were busy with a new breakthrough in their jet pack design. So the onus was up to him to tell Prime what the commander knew but what didn't want to acknowledge.

"Come in, Red Alert," Prime said.

Red Alert stepped inside the office, raised his brow, and fought the rather immature and irrational urge to look away. Prime had his back to the entrance—an atrocity in and of itself—and had taken off his helm and some of the exterior armour that covered his upper body. Red Alert could clearly see the implants that lined his commander's torso, arms, hands, and face, organic-metal silver lines branching and lining the pale skin, tracing the pathways of veins and arteries.

"What are you doing, sir?" Red Alert managed to ask.

Prime seemed only partly aware that his security director was speaking to him. He looked at the implants lining his hand with a strange sort of fascination.

"Yes, what are we doing?" he asked softly. Red Alert coughed uncomfortably, and Prime looked back at him with a strange half-smile.

"I apologize, Red Alert," he said, turning around to face him. "What did you want to tell me?"

Red Alert sighed. "If we can drop the formalities, Will?"

Another smile. "Of course, Terry."

Red Alert went over to a makeshift chair, sat upon it, and removed his helm. Setting it on the floor next to him, he looked at his commander, eye to eye, pale blue meeting soft brown.

"How did the meeting with the Autobots go?"

"Well, since I have returned unscathed, I say that it went fine."

"You know what I mean, Will."

"Yes, Terry. They did offer sanctuary again."

"And?"

"Do you know what we've accomplished, Terry?" he asked instead. Red Alert appraised his commander, and sighed, knowing that he was in one of _those _moods. "We've done so many things that our ancestors would have only dreamed of. Look at us now— we've virtually eliminated genetic diseases, cured several others, we've achieved life-long youth, health, agility, and strength, though," he added, chuckling bleakly and tracing his hand over the implants on his face, "I can't say the same for life-long beauty. So many things our ancestors valued to satisfy their vanity, and we use them to live through another day. We have exterior armour, we may just have cracked the key to individual flight, we have an internal network, achieving a state of intimacy with one another that our ancestors could not even imagine…We've even made contact with aliens! Aliens, Terry! Do you think that the humans of before would even recognize us?"

Red Alert shook his head. "Don't talk like that, Will. You speak as though we aren't human."

"Are we? The 'cons try to break their pets by making them something other than human. Not that we're broken but…I do wonder, in a sense…if they succeeded anyway," Prime said, looking at the implants on his hands.

"We are human, Will," Red Alert said gently. "We are weak, we are fragile, we are proud. For better or for worse, we are human."

Silence reigned once again.

"You shouldn't be pulling stunts like that, you know? What were you thinking, going off on your own? You must be, what, sixty years old by now?"

Prime scoffed. "As if my life is worth any more than any one else's," he muttered.

"Like it or not, it is," Red Alert said, his normally mellow tone hardening slightly. "Do you know what we were without the Council? Without a Prime acting as a beacon of hope, a symbol of order? We were scared, reasonless, traitorous. For goodness' sake, Will! We were selling each other out in hopes of 'safety,' only to secure our own place on a pet shop shelf! Every time one of Megatron's pets died off, we were making nothing short of sacrificial offerings! We _need _the Council, Will! We _need _a Prime!"

"And I am comforted in the fact that, should anything happen to me, you will take up my mantle," Prime said.

Red Alert made a frustrated sound. "You know what I mean, Will! Don't you get it?" he asked suddenly, getting up from his seat. He crossed the space between them, and pressed his forehead against that of his leader, holding his leader's face. "Don't you get it?" he asked, quieter now but voice cracking. "We love you, old man. Don't go doing stuff like this."

Prime held Red Alert's face gently for a moment. "I apologize, Terry. I acted rashly."

"Damn straight," Red Alert said, releasing his commander. Then he sat down on the makeshift chair again, and it was as though nothing had happened.

"What did you want to tell me, Terry?"

"Will, you know how we all feel about the Autobots," Red Alert said. "And we know how _you _feel about the Autobots."

"She wants me to trust them, Terry," Prime said, and Red Alert knew that he was referring to their Ratchet. "To trust a group of robots, half of whose race is enslaving us, and the other half too inept at containing their war and let it spread to other worlds."

"Shouldn't that mean something to you, then?" Red Alert said gently. "That _she's _the one who's asking you to consider this?" Prime didn't answer. "Will," Red Alert said carefully, knowing that he was entering a dangerous area of conversation. "Remember, you are not the only one to lose your family to these creatures."

Prime looked at Red Alert straight on. "Is that what you want to tell me? To trust them?"

"No, I can't ask that of you," Red Alert said. "Goodness knows discretion and suspicion had saved us before." There was yet another uncomfortable pause, as both of them remembered a certain incident.

Prime gave a short laugh. "All things foul would wear the brows of grace," he said softly.

"Yes," Red Alert said. "Macbeth. Shakespeare."

"An evil alien tyrant, and he likes Shakespeare," Prime said, shaking his head.

"I think that the dramatic irony and tragedy appeal to him."

"It would."

"We need you to think about it, Will," Red Alert said, finally saying what he needed to say. "We need you to weigh and to judge with reason, not with anger or hatred." A pause. "But you know this can't last forever, Will."

Prime sighed heavily. "I know. Sooner or later Megatron will no longer think our struggle amusing. The only reason the resistance has lasted this long is that he treats us as an amusing show, or a mere annoyance at worst, and not a threat."

"Yes. They've already started importing humans from other parts of the world. Once our commercial value is gone," Red Alert continued, his tone sinking ever so slightly to disgust, "then it will be open hunting season. They won't bother with bringing us in alive. Whether or not that particular detail works in our favour…well, I guess only time will tell."

Again another pause reigned as both looked into the future, and at the problems that were sure to be heading their way.

"Answer me, Will," Red Alert asked. "Are they trustworthy?"

"Yes," Prime said finally. "Optimus Prime, at least, is sincere in his offer of sanctuary. And you know this," he said, meaning the rest of the generals.

Red Alert nodded. "Yes, we do. But you know how things are. We will not trust them if you will not."

Prime gave a gentle chuckle. "Aren't you supposed to be the suspicious one?" he asked amiably.

Red Alert smiled thinly. "And _you _are supposed to be open-minded."

Prime would have said more, but then Prowl burst in.

"Prime!" she said. She was pale.

"Prowl, what's wrong?" Prime asked.

"One of Megatron's captives has just died. Seems he wasn't as broken as Megatron thought he was and deliberately OD'd," she said quickly.

"Which one?"

She told them.

Prime looked at both of them.

"Where's Spike?"

**X x X**

Red Alert was not a happy mech. He wasn't a happy mech most of the time, but at that moment, he was particularly frustrated and downright angry.

He was one of those mechs who thought that the war should have ended at Cybertron. He was one of the many in Optimus' council who came to Earth bitterly, believing that his commander was making a mistake but too loyal to leave him, as half his troops did.

He believed it was a mistake to continue to chase the Decepticons, just as he had believed that it was a mistake to trust the humans. Granted, he had been wrong on the former count—the Decepticons had the luck to find an energy-abundant planet, able to satisfy their needs—but on the latter, he had absolute conviction.

It was a conviction shared by about half the Autobot base. The other half were split between stubbornly neutral and infuriatingly supportive of Optimus' well-meaning but misplaced benevolence.

Prowl held a neutral stance, Jazz was all for letting in the "little people," as he called them, so it was up to Red Alert to give his commander the proper cautions.

He paced outside of Optimus' office, muttering to himself, and only the way that his fingers kept brushing against his throat, tracing the ghost of a collar, showed that he was more anxious than usual.

"Come in, Red Alert," Optimus said.

"What did the human have to say to you, Optimus?" Red Alert asked, speaking even before he had entered the office.

Optimus raised a brow ridge at the vehemence in Red Alert's tone, but answered mildly that the humans' Prime had came with usual information regarding Decepticon scouting units and movements inside the White City. Red Alert was already shaking his head even before Optimus had finished.

"And you trust him? You trust his information?"

"The humans have no more love for the Decepticons than we do. And the information that the humans have given us has so far proven to be accurate—"

"—and incomplete…sir," Red Alert added.

"But nevertheless still valuable. They do not give us information when we can use it against them. Given a certain incident that happened to them just a short amount of time, even by human standards, before we caught up to the Decepticons, their reluctance to work with us is understandable. Perhaps in time they will learn to trust us."

If he were human, Red Alert would have heaved a sigh. Instead, he just shook his head in frustration. He knew that Optimus was exceedingly careful, and despite all appearances, took the humans' information and held it below their own in value. In those rare times that information disagreed, he would always go with the data gathered from the Autobots' scouts and spies. However, the fact that Optimus trusted the humans' words at all gnawed at him.

And though even Red Alert had to reluctantly admit that the humans' information was accurate and was often more detailed than the information that their own thinned out scouting and spying units sent back, the fact that information was being withheld understandably bothered him.

"Offering sanctuary to humans…This is a bad idea, Optimus," Red Alert said, getting to the bigger topic of his worries. "I have said so from the beginning. We cannot allow them inside this base. The humans cannot be trusted."

"They are victims in this war," Optimus said, seated from behind his desk. Red Alert paced back and forth in front of him. "A war that we failed to stop."

"These 'victims' as you call them, are merely taking advantage of the situation. They've attacked our sentries—"

"Because they mistook them for Decepticons," Optimus interrupted gently. "They are not able to tell about Cybertronians—to them, those of Autobot design and those of Decepticon design look identical."

"Lies," Red Alert said dismissively, increasing his pace as he walked from one side of the room to the other. "They've stolen from our supplies, destroyed our drones—"

"All in the name of safety."

"—and act as spies for the Decepticons! Jazz has had to pull out more spies from their assignments here than he ever did when the war was waged on Cybertron! They are traitors to their own kind!"

"The humans that the Decepticons keep captive are too…broken to know any better, Red Alert," Optimus said evenly. "They are there because neither we nor the human resistance could save them."

"Optimus," Red Alert said abruptly, stopping in his pacing and turning to look directly at his commander. "How can you defend the humans? They are a cruel and violent race. I've seen what they've done to drones that they've captured—what they want to do to any Cybertronian they've captured, Decepticon or otherwise."

"Any race will fight for their survival and freedom."

But Red Alert went on as if Optimus had not said anything. "They are a traitorous people. Are you aware of what they did to one another when the Decepticons first landed? They betrayed one another, sold each other out, deprived one another of food and resources, ensured one another at the expense of others—"

"And at the same time, there were humans that banded together, and took care of each other…Situations like those brings out the best and the worst of us, Red Alert. Human and Autobot alike. Hopefully the worst is over."

Red Alert was about to say more, but then Optimus gave him a pointed, and somewhat melancholy look, and added softly, "And when the Decepticons turned on us and started enslaving Autobots, were we any different?"

Red Alert paused in his pacing for just one moment. Compulsively, his fingers came up to brush his neckline, before he realized that Optimus had not missed the movement. He forced his hand down, at the same time pushing away the little voice in his processor that said that Optimus might have had a point.

"I do not speak from merely what we have witnessed," Red Alert said finally. "Have you seen their history? The history that they've had even before the Decepticons arrived? The record of the human race is pockmarked with pain and murder and war and conquest and worse. They've acted in ways befitting of Decepticons. Have you seen what they've done to one another, what they might have continued to do to one another? They were on the brink of yet another world war when the 'Cons landed. Besides that, they were poisoning their environment, poisoning each other…If the Decepticons had not arrived and started enslaving them, they would have destroyed each other. If anything, the humans should probably be grateful to the 'Cons!"

The look in Optimus' optics told Red Alert that he might have gone a bit too far. "That is enough, Red Alert," he said evenly.

"I apologize, Optimus," Red Alert said, his voice coming down an octave. "But you know that I hold only our interests at spark, and I do believe that the humans will be only be a…a hindrance at best."

There was a pause.

"You are too suspicious," Optimus said finally.

"And you are too trusting."


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: **do not own Transformers.

**Author note: **We're reaching a point in the story where the "mirror (i.e. a barrier between the humans and the Autobots) begins to break," so to speak. So there's going to be funny stuff happening in the POVs. Hopefully this doesn't become confusing.

**Also: **Sorry, short chapter! G1 bunnies took my mind over at LJ and wouldn't give it back until I wrote some drabblish-oneshot things for them. Still trying to piece back together my writing psyche…

* * *

Other Side of the Mirror

**8**

The youth and his temporary companion walked tensely, weapons at the ready, pausing every now and again to listen for any incoming drones. Behind them, he could hear the faint sounds of raptors and even more advanced drones screeching and cawing. He could almost hear Cage's voice, smooth and poisonous, and it bore into his mind.

He saw his hand trembling, and he forced himself to stop.

He went on ahead, using the cover of fallen buildings, and looked behind him. The mini-giant that he found himself stuck with looked was looking carefully around, stepping carefully with movements—amazingly lithe and nimble for one of his kind—that surprised him. Even the youth's former tormentors made the earth shake underneath their feet, and they were smaller and lighter than Bumblebee was.

But though this reinforced the already obvious fact that Bumblebee meant him no harm, his fight or flight instincts screamed at the sight of him.

He was one of the smallest Autobots that the youth had seen, but to be fair, he hadn't seen many of them. His armour wasn't as thick as other mechs, suggesting that this was a scouting or spying unit rather than a frontline warrior. But still, sheer power radiated from the body, and though small, the youth was pretty sure that he was as deadly as full-sized mechs. At the minibot's disposal was weaponry that made his own charge weapons look like toys, a knife to a gunfight.

He had a moment of near-hysterical and inappropriately timed thought.

_What are we going to do? These guys are…are living weaponry! And this happens to be one of the smallest of the friendly ones!_

Even on the slim chance that peace could be attained, even if the Decepticons could be defeated, they'd have to continue with the implants just to keep up with their neighbours.

And he hated having him at his back. It felt too much like he was being snuck up on—again—and their current predicament which pretty much forced them to walk and crouch and pause wasn't doing much to ease the feeling.

So even though he should have been watching his surroundings and shouldn't have been worrying about his temporary ally, he found himself paying as much attention to Bumblebee at his back as he was to the potential danger ahead.

He turned around, and continued on. The earth trembled underneath him, but whether that was due to his own shaking or due to the Autobot that followed, he wasn't sure.

**X x X**

Bumblebee made his way through the rubble with difficulty. He had a lot of grief because he was amongst the smallest of the Autobots. However, next to his temporary companion, Bumblebee felt like a giant…a stumbling, hulking, noisy giant, and he tried not to wince at the sounds that each of his footsteps made.

The human had taken the lead, making his or her way nimbly through the debris. Watching the human, Bumblebee knew why some of his comrades had, at first, mistaken the humans for ghosts. Bumblebee, as undoubtedly the better equipped of the pair, felt uneasy with the human in front, where he or she would be the first one to face incoming danger, but felt that he or she was close enough that he could come quickly to his or her aide. Besides, better the human was in front, where Bumblebee could keep a better optic on him or her.

Bumblebee knew what humans, both implanted and non-implanted, looked like. The Decepticons had extensive health information on the humans in order to keep their pets aesthetically pleasing and exceedingly affectionate through the use of implants, armour, and drugs. The Autobots had managed to hack into this information and had taken what was useful. The humans that still remained free managed to do the same, and had taken information about the implants to survive.

Bumblebee had also seen humans before on his scouting rounds. They were the whispers in the air and the shadows in the corners of his optics. But this was the first time that Bumblebee had seen a human up-close.

The human was lightly armed. His or her armour was thin and light in comparison to Prime, whom Bumblebee had managed to catch a glimpse of a few times. It was built for speed and for avoiding detection rather than for a full-on battle. Besides the standard claws and spurs, the only other weapon that the human possessed were a pair of blades, coming out from the sides of either arm, one of them at the ready and the other retracted and sheathed for now. Deceivingly simple weaponry, as the human was a walking charge weapon.

Because their implants that kept their physical bodies youthful, it was nearly impossible to tell the real age of the humans. Because of their exterior armoury, it was often difficult to tell if the human was male or female. Vocal tone and depth was usually a good indication of sex, but so far, the human had remained relatively silent.

Going by the human's smallish height and slender build, Bumblebee thought that his temporary companion was either an adult female of medium build or a lightly built sub-adult male.

Bumblebee was suddenly hit with the thought that, if the humans did not allow the Autobots to come to their aid, these strange and proud creatures would very likely be wiped out.

_What are we going to do? These guys…they seem so scared of us, _Bumblebee thought morosely, keeping up with the still fairly skittish human. _And this one seems to be one of the more trusting ones._

**X x X**

The journey went by more slowly than originally thought. They were forced to stop many times as drones threatened to catch up with them, and took an alternate route. The result was that they were forced right along the chasm, with very little cover. Though the bridge should have already been in sight, they were still hours away, and the sun had set a long time ago.

The youth only had the most basic of implants, having just started the process, and did not have the upgrades that the adults had. Though he was able to somewhat see in the dark, the incoming darkness significantly hindered his fighting ability.

Pretty soon, it was Bumblebee silently taking the lead.

Bumblebee stopped short suddenly, and the youth almost collided into him. Stepping to the side, he saw the glow of the Autobot's optics intensify, surveying the scene a few yards from them.

It was…clear. Strangely clear. There were ten yards of completely clear area between the rubble and the wreckage, where there was just asphalt and grass struggling through the cracks.

It was a completely open area.

If there were any enemies on the other side, they'd be completely vulnerable.

The youth was about to step forward, to try and see if there _were _any threats awaiting them, when Bumblebee placed a hand on his shoulder. He flinched at the sudden contact, but didn't think that Bumblebee noticed.

"Stay here. I'll check it out and see if it's safe," he said softly. The youth nearly jumped. It was the first thing that Bumblebee had said since getting out of the basement.

The youth thought about their dilemma, and then nodded. There was a time to be proud, and a time to be prudent. In this situation, pride could be deadly.

He hung back, taking cover, watching as Bumblebee got as close as he could to the clear area without possibly giving his position away.

That was when he heard it.

A single cry. It sounded like a child.

He looked around uneasily, wondering if he was just imagining things. He looked at Bumblebee, who was still focused on the possibilities of threats just a few yards from them.

He heard it again, this time followed by a plaintive call.

"Mommy!"

He turned in the direction of the voice. A shadowed figure darted behind pieces of debris. It was about the size of a six year-old child.

He felt his heart skip a beat, and he was already starting to move towards the direction that the figure disappeared in. Was it a survivor? A child separated from the resistance? Such survivors outside of the main resistance were rare…but they were found.

He couldn't leave a child out here. That was like…like sending lambs to the slaughter.

He thought about calling Bumblebee back, but by now the Autobot was about a one inch tall yellow blob in the distance. Doing that would surely give away both of their positions, and then where would the kid be?

But he couldn't wait for the Autobot to return. Already, the figure had gone deeper into the tangled maze of rock and rubble, all the while calling for his or her mother.

Ah, screw it. He'd just grab the stupid kid, and haul his or her ass back here before Bumblebee came back and found him gone, cross the bridge with Bumblebee, and bring the kid back to the resistance.

He darted in the direction of the figure.

"Come on, kid," he hissed. The kid didn't seem to hear him, and instead darted deeper into the shadows.

He finally made it through the maze…and found himself surrounded by tall former buildings. The child—a little girl—was right in front of him. Strange. If he hadn't seen the kid, then—

The child flickered out of existence, and at the same time, a strange cackling filled the air.

_A hologram? _

The youth turned around, but his only exit was quickly cut off by a dark humanoid shape.

Drones…that could cast holograms.

Ten of the new models surrounded him, and the cackling grew to what he felt was deafening proportions.

A million thoughts raced through his head as he watched the drones come closer, but the two ridiculous thoughts that burst through his panicked mind were: _Wow, that's new, _followed quickly by _Great, just great. They even programmed them to laugh manically. _

He unsheathed his weapons.

**X x X**

The journey went by more slowly than originally thought. They were forced to stop many times as drones threatened to catch up with them, and took an alternate route. The result was that they were forced right along the chasm, with very little cover. Though the bridge should have already been in sight, they were still hours away, and the sun had set a long time ago.

Bumblebee's optics had built-in night vision, but he doubted that the human was thus endowed. Pretty soon, it was Bumblebee silently taking the lead, and he found himself looking back every so often to make sure that the human was keeping up with him. He shouldn't have worried; the human was following him like his shadow, and was just as silent.

Bumblebee stopped in his trek, taking his visual processors to the maximum. The ground in front of them was…clear. Strangely clear. There were ten yards of completely clear area between the rubble and the wreckage, where there was just asphalt and grass struggling through the cracks.

It was a completely open area.

If there were any enemies on the other side, they'd be completely vulnerable.

The human—who had suddenly appeared at Bumblebee's side—moved forward, as if to investigate the possibility of a threat. Bumblebee placed a hand on his or her shoulder, withdrawing it quickly when the human flinched at the contact. He remembered belatedly that the humans didn't have good experiences with physical contact from the Decepticons and even from some Autobots, and tried not to feel disappointed.

"Stay here. I'll check it out and see if it's safe," he said softly. After what seemed like a long while, the human nodded. He was relieved. The humans were known for their pride, but in this situation, pride could be deadly.

He stepped forward, and the human disappeared into the other shadows.

Crouched, and using the sparse cover as best as he could, he made his way to the too-innocent looking area. Maxing out his visual processors once again, he tried scanning for threats.

Then he heard a terrible cackling from behind him, and he whirled around.

Only to be immediately rammed by a dark shape from the side.

He grabbed his assailant, and instinctively _squeezed. _He was rewarded with a sickening crunch of metal and wires, a sudden burst of processed energon, and an enraged scream that cut off as soon as he blasted the thing.

No sooner was he done with that one than another came to take its place.

Then another.

Then another.

The debris and rubble were becoming a hindrance now. He was forced into the clearing, and then onto the edge of the chasm.

A million thoughts raced through his processor as he and his assailant came closer and closer to the edge and to the murky darkness below, but the two ridiculous thoughts that burst through his panicked processor were: _Wow, that's new, _followed quickly by _Scrap! I thought we were further away from this thing than that!_

He and the drone fell, twisting, the drone still trying to get another chunk of wires out of him. Bumblebee's blaster was knocked out of his hand, but at the last possible moment, he shoved the drone underneath him, cushioning himself as they impacted the ground.

The drone was still, but he had been through enough skirmishes and saw enough horror-vids to know better. After finding his blaster a short distance from where he had "landed," he shot the drone in the processor, just to be sure.

He took a precious moment to examine the wreckage. Lithe and humanoid in shape, this…this new _drone_ was the most human-looking model that the Decepticons had come up with, and had a human's agility. The armour type was new, and was superior to the humans' in terms of avoiding detection.

For now. Bumblebee had the thought that the humans would probably make use of this armour, should they ever have the opportunity.

He checked himself for injuries, but even before the scan was completed, he could feel several energon leaks throughout his body. The most problematic one was located near his spark-chamber, where the processed energon trickled steadily. He fervently thanked Primus that the blow wasn't an inch or two to the right, or else his spark itself might have been damaged. Damaged parts were relatively easy to fix; a damaged spark was permanent.

Now, a more pressing question: Was the human alright?

Bumblebee began his long climb upwards.


End file.
